


i made you gentle for a time

by stephtron312



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-it fic, angst but it will get happy at some point, brienne as the warrior maiden and absolute badass, but dont worry there will be a happy ending eventually, canon compliant out of spite, jaime needs to grovel until he he is worthy of brienne, podrick to protect his ser mom and glare at his ser dad, when show!jaime has earned it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: Jaime stands trial for treason against Queen Daenerys for trying to save his sister. Brienne vouches for him, once more, for reasons he cannot fathom as he doesn't deserve her, and Dany tries to find a fitting punishment for them both by exiling Jaime to Tarth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HI ARE YOU ALSO REALLY MAD AT 8X05??? I AM!!!!!
> 
> One of the (many) things that I am angry about is the way Jaime and Brienne's entire relationship and arc were completely ignored in the narrative and I am trying to find a way to deal with and vindicate that choice by writing through it. I know I shouldn't be trying to apply logic to the writing of this show but I can't help it. I need there to be some kind of logical ending!! No idea how long this one will go on for (and I'm still working on my canon divergent after 8x03 fic too (call the night by name), which is MUCH much sweeter hahaha). Prepare for Jaime to suffer, because i love him so much, and they did him so dirty that I need to find some way to redeem him after that shit.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it =)

The red clay of the Keep fell around him, turning to rubble as it clobbered his back and arms. Cersei’s lifeless body was beneath him as he cowered over her. Her eyes looked up at him, unseeing, blood leaking across her cheek from the top of her head.

 _We’re the only ones that mattered_ , he had said to her like words to an old song he forgot he knew. It weighed on his chest that in his final moments he couldn’t even be truthful about what they really were. 

Hateful. 

Dishonorable. 

Poison. 

Coward.

Ash fell into his eyes and on his lips. He looked up to see the crumbling ceiling rain down upon him, knowing this moment would be his last. He shut his eyes, folding his body over Cersei’s and braced for the crush.

\---

“There! Over there!” It was Tyrion’s voice ringing through his ears. He sounded so far away, almost underwater. Jaime’s whole body throbbed, aching with a pain that could only mean death. “The golden hand!”

He could not open his eyes, or maybe he simply didn’t have eyes to open any longer. He tried though, to pry them loose and see if he was in hell or heaven. Surely he was not alive. The sound of more rocks following echoed closely to his ears, his neck bending painfully towards them. Something gripped at his arms and pulled him roughly, his body moving without his permission. This was certainly death, he thought as a scream escaped him. One eye blurred open and a shock of blonde hair stood over him, blue eyes penetrating him with a hatred that burned as hot as the dragon’s breath. 

“You are an _idiot_.” The words seethed between a scarred mouth. 

Darkness took him again, his body going limp in Brienne’s arms.

\---

It had been several days, Jaime had been assured, since the Red Keep fell. Many were dead, Cersei among them, but he was not. His body had been binded by a maester where Euron Greyjoy’s stabs had almost gutted him. His right arm was broken, making the gold hand hang uselessly from his crushed wrist. Ironic, he’d have thought if thinking alone didn’t spur a pain in his head that nearly sent him blind every few hours. 

He was chained to a post in a tent, a seemingly normal place for him these days. He didn’t get many visitors besides the maester and Tyrion, and twice Podrick, who refused to meet his eyes. Brienne did not make any appearance and he thought he dreamt her up. Hoped he did. She was supposed to be in the North, tucked away safely with her oaths and her honor and far from the wickedness of Kings Landing.

“You’ll be tried tomorrow morning,” Tyrion said as he spoon fed Jaime his supper. “For treason against Queen Daenerys.”

“Treason that was _your_ idea,” he bit out, his voice scratching down his throat like nails. 

“You were _supposed_ to make it out. In fact, you weren’t even supposed to be here.”

Tyrion was angry, yet his eyes looked sadder than Jaime had seen in a long time. What had his Dragon Queen become, and what would she continue to be, he wondered. 

“You really tried to save her,” he said after a few moments, bringing the spoon of cold stew to Jaime’s lips. He was almost laughing about it. “I thought you’d kill her, honestly. After all she put you through, after you all you gave up for her. Didn’t think you’d actually go for the _start a new life together_ sentiment.”

“I didn’t either,” Jaime said, avoiding Tyrion’s eyes. “When I found her she look terrified. I never saw her look so scared. And she said she wanted to live for the baby, what else was I supposed to do? Let another one of my children die? For her selfishness?”

Tyrion said nothing, his breathing slow and measured as the weight of his older brother’s life fell onto his shoulders. “I was going to come and find you, hoping beyond all measure that you had made it out alive. But your Lady Knight was already there, throwing rocks around like a madwoman. She almost looked like a Lannister soldier, the amount of blood that had stained her armor red. I was as shocked to see her as I was you. Did you plan this together? Doesn’t seem the kind of thing Ser Brienne would be up for.”

So he hadn’t dreamed her. His eyes widened, and he shook against the chains. A poor decision that made his head rattle and he dry heaved against the pain. “Brienne had nothing to do with this. She was supposed to be in Winterfell. You tell that Dragon Qu-”

“You can tell her yourself tomorrow,” Tyrion shut him with another spoonful, both happy and woefully angry that his brother was alive.

\---

“Ser Brienne,” Queen Daenerys addressed the room. The trial could not be held before the Iron Throne as there wasn’t an Iron Throne left, but was instead in the dragonpit. Drogon stood behind the Queen, staring down at the strong Knight in front of her. Brienne stood straight, eyes up and unafraid in his presence. In _anyone’s_ presence. “You were the last to see the Kingslayer and his sister alive. What did you see?”

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice frighteningly measured. “I found Jaime Lannister with his sister Cersei before the Keep collapsed on top of them. I heard their last words to each other and he was trying to bring her to you as peacefully as he could. She was pregnant with his child. He wanted to negotiate for Cersei’s life, for the life of their unborn.”

“Yes, as I’ve been told,” Her eyes looked to Tyrion beside her, anger burning there but he did not meet them. “And how then might I ask did you not get crushed by the Keep as well?”

“I was beneath an archway leading into the catacombs from which they came. I was lucky to not die. Your Grace.”

Jaime’s face burned red, his eyes staring at the back of Brienne’s head. She had heard what he said to Cersei, what he had actually said. 

She hadn’t looked at him once since entering the pit, not even as she stood up on his behalf. And not even now as she lied, breaking with her integrity for him. His stomach churned and if it weren’t for the Unsullied gripping at each of his arms, he might have fallen over. He did not deserve her mercy.

“Ser Lady Brienne this is the second time you’ve vouched for Jaime Lannister and the second time he has betrayed me.”

Brienne did not waver under her stare, even as Drogon shuffled behind her. Fear washed over him, and Jaime shook slightly against the Unsullied. He couldn’t watch her die.

“I know Lady Sansa has released you from her service,” the queen continued, her voice holding back a bit of the bitterness it always seemed to possess, “and that you were to sail to Tarth as your father’s health is failing and you are the rightful heir to your house.”

Brienne nodded steadily.

“Then I am exiling Jaime Lannister to Tarth, under your guard. If I ever hear that he has step foot on the mainland, I will burn you both.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is feeling slightly better about last Sunday's episode!! It took me until today to really calm down, but I still have a rage in my heart I'm not quite ready to let go of.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They had been riding for hours. Every hoofbeat sent jolts of agony through Jaime’s body as he tried to keep up with Brienne. She was moving at a breakneck speed, not stopping once since they had departed what was left of the Northern army camp at dawn’s light.

Even Podrick was faltering behind, almost catching up to her and then inevitably falling back to where Jaime’s tawny coarser was trailing. He kept looking back at the broken knight, sadness hardening to anger and then melting back again.

Tyrion and Jon Snow had seen them off in the morning. Jon had scrolls from Sansa who had been in contact with the maester at Evenfall Hall. Brienne’s father was faltering much quicker than they had expected. 

“I know Sansa means to visit you soon, I hope I will get the chance to be there with her,” he had said to Brienne, a thank you for all she had done.

It took Podrick and two northern soldiers to help Jaime onto his horse. Tyrion had laid a hand on his knee. 

“We’ll see each other again soon, brother,” he had said, a promise that felt less final than their last goodbye.

Now, as the sun was beginning to dip between the lower branches of the woods, Jaime felt his grip on the saddle loosening, his mind splitting with headache. He wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or vomit, but he needed to stop moving.

“Pod,” he called out weakly. When the squire turned to look at him Jaime could read the worry stretching over his face.

“Ser!” Podrick called out to Brienne but she was too far ahead of them. “Wait here,” he said, slipping his water canteen from his neck and uncapping it before handing it to Jaime. With a grunt the younger man took off after Brienne.

The water was cooling and forgiving. Jaime tried to be mindful that they had limited supplies to last them until Storm’s End, where the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands had a ship waiting for them, but his thirst was uncontrollable. His hand shook as the water splashed around his dry mouth. He was definitely going to be sick.

He relieved his stomach over the side of the horse, not hearing as the hoofbeats approached him. Podrick was off his horse already, a hand coming up to steady Jaime from falling off. Brienne wielded her horse around them, the grey stead whinnying and stomping its feet as it circled him.

An amount of concern bubbled within her as she looked him over without reaching his eyes. He looked as if death had stampeded across him. “You can make camp here,” she said matter of factly to Podrick, reaching into one of her saddlebags and handing a cloth bundle to her squire. “And make sure he eats something.”

“Are you not staying, Ser?” Podrick asked, his hand still steady at Jaime’s back.

“Meet me at Storm’s End by midday,” she instructed, all the gravitas of a general commanding her troops. “There’s too much to prepare before we sail.”

Podrick frowned still, “It will be dark soon.”

“I know the way,” she brushed off his concern.

“Brienne,” Jaime barely whispered, hoping she would hear him, would _look_ at him. At the sound of her name she kicked at her horse, and was lost to the Kingswood. 

\---

With the fire roaring and the horses hobbled safely near them, Podrick turned his attention to Jaime’s wounds. He had opened the contents of the bundled package Brienne had handed him to find spare strips of cloth, a salve to keep off infection and a vile of milk of the poppy as well as some bread and hard cheese.

He helped Jaime settle against the trunk of a tree and began to undress his stab wounds. They were bright red from irritation, but the stitches were intact. Podrick worked to rub the salve into the wound, making Jaime wince at the sting.

“Do you pity me, Pod?” he asked, a bite of anger in his voice. He was desperate for the squire to say anything to him. He had uttered barely more than two words at a time since Brienne had left them.

“No,” Pod said but the way he looked at Jaime suggested otherwise. “Pity is for someone who doesn’t deserve their suffering.”

“Ah,” Jaime almost smiled but a grimace took him as Pod rubbed the salve in just a touch too roughly. “Anger then? What have I done to incur the wrath of Podrick Payne?”

“She’s a good woman,” Podrick said beneath his breathe, voice gritted with resentment. 

He needn’t say more, Jaime’s gut had already twisted with the reminder. Her pleas and cries had haunted his every night between Winterfell and King's Landing. He dreamt of her tears streaming down her harrowed face. Her pleading voice woke him every morning as he slept in the dirt and gravel. He tried to push her from his mind and his heart as he rode further South, and he steeled himself from the thoughts of what it would be like for her afterwards.

Podrick had seen her the morning after though, sitting stark faced in a chair in front of her unlit fireplace, nothing but a robe on. He had never seen her without even her breeches. She hadn’t wanted to move, hadn’t wanted to speak.

He knew immediately that something awful had happened, and it didn’t take long before he noted Jaime’s absence. Throughout the day Podrick became very good at being able to tell the moment before Brienne was going to cry. He would usher her into an empty hall, or come up with some needless distraction to take eyes off her. To let her be wrecked in peace. It only worsened when Sansa received the raven two nights after detailing Lord Selwyn’s ailments. 

“I know you had affections for her, and I’m sure you had a reasoning for what you put her through.” He gentled with every word, letting go of the anger he had been gripping with every last bit of his spite. “But it doesn’t change what you’d done.”

Podrick redressed the bandaging that wound around his torso. “I thought if I should ever meet you again I would chop your other hand off, but then you looked nearly dead after she pulled you from the Keep and I figured this was punishment enough.”

“It isn’t,” Jaime admitted, suddenly feeling depleted from the days ride and the memories flooding within him.

\---

The night had chilled by time Brienne reached Storm’s End. The Baratheon home had been empty for so long it still had an eerie feel to it. Candelabras flickered down the hall, her footsteps echoing on the stone. An old portrait of Renly stopped her in the Round Hall, his face so young and smiling like she always remembered.

Gendry had greeted her and offered her some supper but she refused it, asking for just a quill and ink. In her guest chambers she wrote furiously. A letter to her father to let him know she’d be there by next nightfall. One for Maester Samson asking for the preparations needed for their arrival. A final note to Sansa, thanking her beyond all measure for releasing Brienne from her duty though it had been difficult for them both to say goodbye.

The wind howled through the windows as she attached the last note to a raven headed North. She hoped a storm wasn’t on the horizon. It would delay them, and she couldn’t waste another moment. She thought too of Podrick faring in the woods if it began to rain or lightning. 

And of Jaime.

Every moment from the last time she had seen him she tried to push her thoughts of him into her darkest recesses. He was going to die, she knew, and though she tried to stop him it wasn’t enough. At Winterfell she grieved him, her nights restless as the tears she managed to stifle during the day would spill out into the bed they had shared. Her heart felt torn, a pain worse than she ever had experienced. They had been so happy.

She hadn’t really meant to go into King’s Landing. They had to pass it on their way to Storm’s End, and Sansa wrote to her brother to ensure they’d be able to change horses and gather another day's worth of food and water. By time they got there the dragon had already burned through the gates. The decimation was unreal, but the Red Keep still stood. Something in her pulled, and she couldn’t help but try to save him, to save them, and anyone else she happened upon.

“Stay!” she had yelled at Pod, taking her hose into the battle without a second glance at her squire, leaving him alone surrounded by empty tents. She wouldn’t lose him too.

It was too painful to think of what had happened next. Brienne shook her head in the darkness of her guest chambers. Her armor lay across the writing desk, dented and dull. She climbed into the bed, pulling the satin sheets around her. She wanted to rest, knew she should, but her heart was pounding, racing between her memories and thoughts of her father. She should have gone home sooner.

Her eyes shut, and Brienne counted her breaths like her maester used to tell her to do in order to blank her mind. She counted them in and out, concentrating on the way the air felt as she pushed it down to her lungs. 

She used to listen to Jaime breathing while he slept, watched the way his chest rose and fell beneath the furs. When she felt bold enough she laid her head upon him, listening to the heart beating beneath his skin. Her fingers would trace languidly across old scars and new bruises. Sometimes he would awaken without opening his eyes and pull her close.

Sometimes his eyes would open softly, and he would nuzzle against her hair. He would kiss the top of her head and her temple until she stretched up to meet his lips. His half asleep kisses were always lazy, their lips slowing together as their breath mingled. She liked these kisses best. He would whisper sweet things to her that she couldn’t quite let herself believe. She could still remember those words if she tried.

In the silence of Storm’s end, curled around herself, Brienne heard the sigh of her name upon his lips like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I know nothing about: horses and the geographical details of Westeros. I glanced over the wiki page but I have no idea what Storm's End is supposed to look like, so if I got any descriptors wrong just roll with hit :) just like with rolling with this TOTALLY plausible way this story could have been written!!
> 
> Next, we go to Tarth, and I have some really fun ideas for when we get there!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends :) Let's suffer some more together over one honorable knight and the dumb self loathing (also honorable) knight she is begrudgingly in love with, shall we?

Podrick and Jaime reached Storm’s End by time the sun had reached its highest peak. They had left their campsite before dawn, and took the road much slower than the day before. Podrick even sang a few songs, relaxing his guard around Jaime after getting out his grievances the night before.

They had found Gendry wandering aimlessly around his new home when they arrived. He greeted them with a little too much enthusiasm than the occasion called for, clearly just happy to be around faces familiar to him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted to Jaime as he walked them to the pier where the ship was docked. It was a small merchant vessel, used solely for shipping supplies back and forth from the Sapphire Isle to the Stormlands. Brienne was already on the ship, armor clad and hand holding tight over Oathkeeper’s neck. Like a magnet she looked up to meet his eyes, holding the look for a moment that seemed to stretch far longer than was possible before she turned away, her hand leaving it’s grip on the sword. His hand instinctively groped in the air near his left hip, searching for Widow’s Wail before he remembered Daenerys’ men had taken it from him when he entered their camp. 

“You’ll be fine. Just be fair to the smallfolk and they’ll love you tenfold,” Jaime offered, a faint smile and a clap on the young man’s shoulder as he followed Podrick across the loading plank.

\---

The ship was swifter than Jaime would have given it credit for. It wasn’t doing his injuries any kindness, and he sat on a wine barrel beneath the deck, hoping that being away from the sun would ease his headache.

“Wotch y’er step, m’lady,” one of the sailors said in his thick accent as he descended the steps below deck. Jaime watched as Brienne followed the much smaller man, ducking as he instructed. 

“We ‘ave ‘ere the food stuffs and then o’er ‘ere is the silks ‘n satins,” he went over the inventory but Jaime could see that Brienne wasn’t paying close attention. Her eyes flickered across the contents of the deck as if she didn’t have the time to settle on one thing, her mind racing with the hundreds of new responsibilities she had. 

“It’ll be all on the record, o’ course.”

“Of course,” she smiled politely and nodded as the sailor went back to the deck above. Jaime expected her to follow after, but she lingered. Her finger ran over the grain of one of the wooden containers. “How are you feeling?” she asked stiffly, half turned to him as she stared into the grooves of the wood.

“Been better,” he said calmly, as if he was trying not frighten away a deer with too sudden a movement or too loud a voice. His heart was pounded in his chest, he was sure she could hear it.

She nodded, turning toward to him. Tentatively, she stepped closer, looking at the bruises that colored his face, at his right arm in the sling tucked against his chest. “It’s a short journey. Should only be another hour or so if the wind keeps up.”

The water reflected through the portholes, playing across her blue eyes. He tried to find something to make her stay, as if the right word would unlock her again, as it did that night in front of her fire. Though he supposed that had only been the last of many right words and deeds, carefully slipped between the cracks in her fortress. 

“I look forward to seeing it. Tarth, I mean,” he said, foolishly. As if he wasn’t being exiled but had rather being asked to be there.

Brienne scoffed, eyes hardening like steel as she bore into his. She turned without another word and climbed the steps abruptly. 

\---

Maybe he was just glad to be back on dry land but Jaime would argue that the beach they docked at was even more beautiful than the ones in Dorne. At the end of the plank stood a maester, Samson he thought the name was. The man was much younger than most maester’s seemed to be, his brown hair just barely tinged with grey at the temples, and laugh lines crowded around soft brown eyes. Another man stood at his side with a bushy black beard and tough leather armor.

“My lady,” Maester Samson bowed slightly as Brienne reached them.

“Ser Brienne,” the black haired man smiled, “I am not sure if you remember me, it’s been so long since you’ve been gone.”

“Ser Cassian,” Brienne smiled at him, “Of course. My father wrote to me when you were named the new master-at-arms.”

The man smiled back warmly, clearly both were happy to have her returned to them. “I look forward to training with you. The stories we’ve heard…”

Cheeks tinting pink Brienne shook her head quickly, “There won’t be time for that.”

Ser Cassian tsked, his smile never faltering. “I’m sure we’ll find some. In fact I hope you’ll make it down to the yards before this evening’s end. I have much I’d like to show you.”

“This is my squire, Podrick Payne,” she turned suddenly, reflecting away from herself to let Podrick greet the men. “And this…” 

Jaime stood further back, still queasy from the ship’s journey, but also keenly aware that he was in her territory and would follow whatever rules she set out for him.

“...Is Ser Jaime Lannister,” she finally said, her voice steadying from the short falter. Both men nodded towards him, not quite as fond a greeting as they gave to Podrick. He wondered how Brienne had portrayed him in her letters, or if she had even portrayed him at all.

They began to walk across the beach, leaving the ship’s men to unload their stores. High on a rocky cliff sat Evenfall Hall, it’s spires gleaming in the sun. The stained glass windows shimmered like sea glass as waves gently sprayed against the rocks the castle sat upon. Podrick’s mouth dropped open as he gazed upon it, standing at the bottom of the cliff until Jaime nudged him forward.

Steps were carved in the rockface that they climbed to reach the entrance of the sparkling home of Tarth. On the other side of the island grassy green hills rolled, and a valley of colorful wildflowers stretched in the distance between themselves and the mountain ridge. It was far more beautiful within the island than gazing at it from the seas made it seem.

“Did you get my raven?” Brienne asked of Maester Samson as they moved closer to the entrance. Servants bowed as she passed, and it made Brienne blush deepen every time. She didn’t enjoy attention of any kind but certainly not of this nature. 

He nodded. “The rooms are readied as you instructed, the blacksmith awaiting your call.”

“And my father?” she hesitated, and the maester’s face turned grim.

“He grows weaker with every passing day, but the Evenstar is a great man. He refuses to show his pain. He only takes the milk of the poppy at night so he may sleep without any fits.”

Brienne nodded, taking a deep breath as she processed it all. The last time she had seen her father had been many years ago, and she knew the man she was going to see now would not be the same image of strength and vitality she had in her mind. “Would you have someone show Pod...have someone show them their rooms? I imagine father is in his solarium and I’d like to-”

“My little star!” 

A hoarse voice called out from the grand entrance to Evenfall. Brienne gasped, barely waiting a beat before she took off to her father’s side. Even gripping a cane he was half a foot taller than his daughter, and he hugged her tightly to his chest.

“Father! What are you doing out here, you should be resting. Come on,” she grabbed her father’s hand, forgetting the world around them. She let him lean against her as they walked up the grand staircase. He was so thin, Brienne was sure she could have carried him up the stairs much quicker than they were moving, but she would never insult his dignity.

Maester Samson wasted no time as the others watched the father and daughter disappear into the corridor.

“Podrick,” he turned to the squire, who was starry-eyed and in awe of Brienne’s home. He had tried to imagine her as a little girl, swinging practice swords around such a crystal palace. “Our lady has asked that you be housed in the main hall, if it meets your wishes.” 

“Surely!” Podrick said, awkwardly bowing as he was shook from his revelry. He followed a servant woman up the same stairs Brienne and Lord Selwyn had ascended.

“And we’ve fit one of the guest chambers for you, Ser. I hope it is to your liking. I can bring you there myself, it’s on my way.” 

It was a small room, off a side corridor, and far away from Podrick and Brienne. The bed took up most of the room and was outfitted with satin blue covers, small sunbursts and moon’s embroidered into it. A simple writing desk and drawers completed the furnishings, and a single window looked over the sea behind them. 

Widow’s Wail stood leaning against the wall beneath it.

\---

“Tell me,” Lord Selwyn smiled as Brienne helped settle him into the reading chair in his chambers. A warm breeze came in through the open window. “I want to hear all your stories.”

“They’re not very good,” she said modestly, perching on the ground next to him, her hands fitting over his lap.

“That’s not what I hear. It’s not what the songs say.”

“There are songs?” 

“The first woman Knight of the Seven Kingdoms? And a Lady of Tarth? Of course there are songs.” She had missed his warmth, his smile so unwavering after he finally accepted her for who she was. 

She blushed at the idea, “I hope I never hear them then.”

Lord Selwyn merely smiled at her, his eyes growing heavy. The walk up and down the staircase had exhausted him. Brienne stood, laying a gentle kiss to her father’s forehead and left him to nap.

Being back home hadn’t quite hit her yet, so much of it had changed, she had changed. And there was so much to do she didn’t have time to idle and think about what it all meant to her. She contemplated over her imagined list of things to do, walking confidently through the corridors to meet the blacksmith in his forge.

“It will be slow to heal, but it will heal. Then we can think about what to fit over it,” she heard Maester Samson’s voice from within one of the chambers of the corridor she was walking through.

Then Jaime’s irritable tone, “I’m tired of covering it up. Can’t we just let it be?”

Brienne cursed inwardly, stalling just two doors away from where she asked Jaime be placed. She could go back out the main entrance to avoid walking passed them, but then she’d have to walk around the entire length of the courtyard just to reach the back training grounds and subsequent forge. There was a doorway just at the end of this corridor that led directly there. 

The weight of her father’s poor health and the endless list of responsibilities made having to see Jaime even less appealing. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with her own turmoil, but this was her home and she wouldn’t go out of her own way just for the easement of a man. She made up her mind to move swiftly pass the door and pay him no mind.

“Lady Brienne,” Maester Samson called after her just as she had cleared the doorway. She winced, and turned back.

Jaime was shirtless, his right arm bandaged and held out in front of him for the maester to inspect. Long stitches ran down either side of his torso, and the bruises were so many it almost looked like one giant purple and black spot. He winced as he tried to stand quickly in her presence. 

“Are you going to see Edmund? I had the inventory from the shipment of what he ordered,” the young maester patted at his robes. “Probably left it in the tower. Will you be here for a moment of should I meet you at the forge?”

“I can wait,” she said trying to mask her tenseness. She didn’t need the household, nor the rest of the island, to know of her own afflictions when it came to Jaime. The less they could pick up from her ill ease around him, the better.

“I’ll be but a moment,” he said, handing Jaime’s sling back to him before maneuvering around Brienne to leave. He reminded her of Samwell Tarly, but slightly less befuddled.

Brienne could feel Jaime staring at her, but she concentrated very hard on the stone work of the arched doorway, refusing to meet his gaze. She heard him rustling, and then grunting beneath his breath. When she finally looked at him he had his left arm in his tunic sleeve, the fabric twisted as he was trying to shimmy his way into it without moving his broken arm.

“Oh, for the gods,” she snapped, crossing the room to him and reaching around to unravel the tunic. She straightened it out and slid the fabric over his head slowly so he could reach his arm up in gentle movements. When he was through she tied the laces at his chest, ignoring the hitch of his breath.

“Thank you,” he said. She stepped back and watched as he fitted the sling over his head, pulling his bandaged arm into it. Unwarranted tears pricked at her eyes as she put more distance between them. 

She didn’t know what to say to him any longer, how to be around him. What easement they ever had around each other had dissipated into insufferable anxiety. At times she wanted to be soft, to care for him, and at others she wanted to pummel him into the ground. He could sense the turmoil in her and it made Jaime burn with frustration that he knew he had no right to feel. 

“What do you want me to do, Brienne?” he heard himself say, the words leaking from his mouth before he had time to even think them. “You want me to stay here or...?”

“I’ll never ask you to stay,” her voice shook, but with no trace of sadness as she swallowed the tears back.

_Stay with me._

__

__

_Please._

“You can, if you choose to, but you can also _fuck off_ to a shack on the Southernmost beach. I don’t care what you do.”

Jaime had the decency to look away and not try to bargain with her fury. He gave an imperceptible nod and retreated away from her glower to stare at the empty set of drawers in the corner of the room. He had nothing to put in them, nor money to buy anything to put in them. Maybe he would lay Widow’s Wail away, surely he’d have no use for it ever again. He was destined to die alone on this island with nothing and no one to his name. _A deserving end for a hateful man_ , he thought.

“You’re not my prisoner, and you’re not my bloody guest,” she said lowly, her voice wavering. She recovered at the approach of Maester Samson’s footsteps, and followed him down the rest of the corridor and out into the yards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof that was intense!!!! I legit made myself angry on Brienne's behalf in that second little spat they have at the end. And I hate when Jaime is self-loathing but he needs to be a little wounded for the moment. 
> 
> I know this chapter is so long, and it was going to be even longer, but I decided to cut it here so it didn't just drag on. I should have the next chapter up soon though!!! Its going to be a more fun one (I hope!)
> 
> Also more things I know nothing about: Castles and their architecture (is Evenfall Hall even a castle? Probably not but I want my girl Brienne to have all the good things!). I just know that they're pretty!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I cannot believe this show ends tonight!! No matter my feelings on how the ending has played out I still love Game of Thrones and I love Brienne and the way Gwendoline Christie played her to perfection. I'll just go ahead and ignore everything after the halfway mark of 8x04 on any rewatch!
> 
> Also, keep forgetting to mention that the fic title comes from the song "Warrior Daughter" by Wildwood Kin which is the MOST perfect Brienne song. I listen to it way more than I should.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!!

“So it can’t be salvaged?” Brienne frowned as Edmund the blacksmith walked around her, surveying her armor.

“No, Ser. You really did a number on it. Won’t be useful to you in a fight like this.”

She looked down at the blue grey armor, her fingers running across it. She had barely tried to clean it, dry blood and dirt from King’s Landing was still caked on top its dents and dings. She knew this armor, knew how to move in it, and never forgot the way it made her feel even the first time Jaime showed it to her. Powerful, capable, safe. It had been her shield from men, from the elements, and from the dead. It was as much a part of her as her own skin.

“I can make you something new, maybe even a little bit more lightweight.” She could see the ideas turning in his mind as Edmund walked over to a bit of parchment and sketched something out on it. She craned her head to see, but didn’t want to appear nosy.

“How much will it cost,” she asked as she began to undo her armor. It had been such a long time since she’d had to do so by herself, with Podrick resting after their back breaking journey. It would be the first real rest he’d had in weeks and Brienne refused to disturb him until he was good and ready to leave his new chambers. Though she supposed with a household full of serving women and men she didn’t really need a squire. The thought made her oddly sad.

“Consider it a welcome home gift,” the blacksmith said, his voice rough from days surrounded by smoke and fire.

She gave her thanks, leaving her old armor behind with regret. Out in the yards she heard the familiar sounds of training. Whacking, grunting, and the occasional swear. It made her relax, and she felt herself drawn to it. Tarth didn’t have the largest troops, or the finest, but there was a fair amount of men and knights armed to protect the island from invaders. 

“Ser Brienne!” 

Ser Cassian called out to her as she moved closer to the troops. He was smiling at her, another person following him as he approached her. It was a woman, with dark skin and braided ropes of black hair pulled behind her. She wore plated silver armor that glinted in the setting sun. A cloth overlay decorated in Tarth’s colors and shield was fastened beneath her pauldrons and fell the entire length of the plackart. A broadsword sat at her right hip. Brienne struggled to suppress her smile at the other woman, even as she dropped to her knees in an almost salute.

“This is Sigrid, captain of your household guard.”

“Rise, Captain Sigrid,” Brienne instructed, a warmth bursting within her. She couldn’t comprehend the feeling she was having at seeing this other woman looking every bit the knight as she did. It was the same prideful elation she felt at seeing Lady Lyanna Mormont command a room of craven men that dared underestimate her. Or the exhilaration of Arya Stark asking to train with her, and giving her one of most well-matched spars she’d had in years.

“It is an honor, Ser, to serve under your command. When we heard you were coming home to us, we could barely contain our excitement to train under you and to stand beside you in any peril that may fall us.”

Brows crinkling slightly, Brienne looked passed Sigrid to the others training behind her. She moved closer to get a better look at them.

Women were beating at each other with practice swords. Women lined in a row pulling back their arrows. Women on horseback practicing complex maneuvers that even Brienne would not try. There were men, too, fighting side by side with them. 

“They’re here because of you,” Ser Cassian explained at Brienne’s beaming gaze. “When the lady of your lands becomes a knight, it seems it brings out the warrior in the other women folk. We couldn’t turn them away, what with songs of Brienne the Brave fighting the Hound ringing in every pub, so we trained them.”

“I know you have many things to attend to, Ser, but if you had a moment to spare to train with us--”

Oathkeeper was unsheathed before Sigrid could finish, Brienne already marching towards the training pit, bits of advice and instruction ready to burst from her tongue.

\---

The sun had set three times while Jaime laid, barely stirring, beneath his bedding. He hardly moved when the kitchen girls brought him bread with fresh strawberry jam and sweet cheese for breakfast, nor when they brought him glazed ham and ale for dinner. They offered him a tub for a bath and he barely scoffed at them. Maester Samson had come to look over his wounds with a barely suppressed air of disapproval at his lethargic state. He had had a hard journey, and needed the rest to heal, but the man would grow pale and lame if he didn’t find some kind of occupation soon.

He was wallowing. Sleeping meant he didn’t have to face her, or himself, or the fact that he was truly a lion no more, and at this point barely a sheep. If he starved to death it would just speed up the process of the world being rid of him like it wanted.

 _If she hated you she wouldn’t have stood for you at the trial. You would have burned with the rest_ , he’d find himself thinking between fitful sleeps, his mind tricking him into optimism. Then he’d be reminded of the hellfire behind her eyes every time she looked at him, and he’d want to forget all over again.

It was on the fourth morning by his count that Podrick burst into his room. He’d looked around it, an air of dismay as he took in Jaime’s sad state.

“You just been in here this whole time?” he said, head cocked in confusion.

Jaime shrugged, noticing the days breakfast of bread and fruit sitting on his desk, untouched. Podrick’s eyes rolled as he crossed to the chest of drawers. He opened it and Jaime noticed for the first time it was full of tunics and breeches and a pair of new leather boots sat on the floor beside it. He had no idea when they had gotten there.

“Come on,” Podrick said, throwing a pair of clothes at the bed. It landed on his lap unceremoniously and Jaime kicked his legs to push them away.

Undeterred, Podrick picked the clothing backup and held it in front of Jaime’s indignant expression. “She saved your life, Ser. It’d be a sorry thanks to throw it away like this.”

Jaime scoffed, trying to hide his misery behind rancor, but took the clothes all the same. “I’m a one-handed antiquated fool Podrick, what else can I do but wither?”

He had allowed Podrick to walk him around Evenfall Hall first, seeing the Great Hall with it’s stained glass window behind the main dais. The center chair was quite ornate with gold and silver lining the carvings and in the daylight the colors of the stained glass played across it. He could only imagine Brienne’s tall figure sitting upon it listening to lesser men squabble to her about land entitlements and her trying not to be bored. The hall was busy on this day, men and women rifling through it, setting up the long feasting tables with candelabras and red and blue tablecloths.

“What are they preparing for?” Jaime asked, realizing just how much he’d been hiding in his chambers. He assumed the rest of the world had been hiding as well.

“Lord Selwyn wants to have a celebration to welcome Brienne home at the end of the sennight,” Podrick said, nodding a hello to one of the staffed men.

“I can’t imagine she’s happy about that.”

“No,” Podrick grinned, “Of course she isn’t.”

\---

Outside, the sun was hot, beaming down without a cloud in the sky to cover them. Jaime’s eyes squinted, adjusting to the brightness away from his dim room. 

“Are those women?” he asked as he and Podrick watched over the training yards.

“Mostly,” Podrick beamed. “And they are _brutal_.”

Brienne was among them wearing a long grey tunic that wouldn’t have been out of place in the North, but stuck out from the jewel toned banner the soldiers wore over their armor. She was instructing a group on parrying, it seemed, until the maester approached her. Her jovial laugh that had carried all the way to where Jaime and Pod stood died on the wind as she was dragged away to what was no doubt more lordly obligations.

“I’m to look after the newer recruits, teach them the basics. If you want to join.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I don’t need to see a twelve year old girl that can wield better than I.”

Podrick exhaled a touch too forcefully. “We’ll be in the eastern yards, if you should change your mind.” 

“I shan’t,” Jaime iterated bitterly. He appreciated that Podrick was trying to pull Jaime along with him as he settled into his new life on Tarth, and his heart was softened for the squire that Jaime still saw as barely more than a boy, despite all the horrors and trials he had beheld. Even if he wanted to though, the training yards had always been Brienne’s territory and were especially so on Tarth. He wouldn’t cross those lines. 

Jaime meandered back through the courtyards aimlessly. Now that he was out of them, the thought of returning to his somber chambers was off-putting. He looked up at the sound of hammering, a rush of heat touching his face as a fire roared to life. Peeking into the blacksmith’s forge, he was dismayed to see the pauldron of Brienne’s armor melting in the hearth.

“Can I help you?” the blacksmith said, barely looking up at Jaime from where he picked the newly melted steel out of the hearth and brought it to the work table.

“That’s good metal,” Jaime found himself saying, stepping further into the forge.

“Aye,” Edmund agreed, tapping his hammer around the edge to flatten the glowing material. “Damn tough considering what Ser Brienne has put it through.”

Jaime nodded, looking over the shop. In the corner stood a wired form, parts of newly fashioned armor taking shape on it. It was slicker than the armor he had given her, matching the chromed look of the soldiers in the training yard. He noticed a sketching of what he assumed the finish suit would look like on a bit of parchment.

“She tends to favor wide movements,” Jaime said, his finger tracing the design. “A heavy skirted piece like this will impede her.”

Edmund walked over to him, hot poker still in hand, as he considered what Jaime was showing him. “I’ve never seen her fight, I was basing it off what we’ve made for the other women.”

“She’s not the other women,” Jaime said, a tinge of a smile playing at the words. “And she’ll be the Lady of Tarth soon, the Evenstar. She should stand out from them, even on the battlegrounds.” He contemplated the drawing a moment more, then took up the piece of kohl nearby, and though his left hand was unsteady, made some modifications to the sketch.

Edmund peered over it, his head nodding with consideration. “That could work.”

Satisfied, Jaime turned to leave but was stopped by Edmund’s hot poker out in front of him. 

“Could use the help,” the blacksmith said honestly. Jaime waved his mangled handless wrist in front of him but Edmund only shrugged. “Only need one hand to shovel the coals.”

\---

“It’s a cow. Why should I care or be concerned at all if it wanders into the Danforth’s lands?” Brienne was pacing around her father’s solar, her lunch untouched. She took all her meals with him, trying to gleam as much advice as possible but often she delved into either high praise for her troops or disgruntled rants about the petty grievances of the smallfolk.

“It matters to the Danforths, so it matters to the Evenstar,” he said quietly as he tried to spoon the squash soup to his mouth.

“I’m not the Evenstar,” Brienne pouted, sitting down next to her father to help him eat.

He patted her hand, the unspoken truth of what the rapidly approaching future held stirring uneasily between them.

“And this feast, it’s unnecessary. I won’t have it.”

At this Lord Selwyn drew upon his full height, forcing Brienne to look up at him. “You have been gone from your home for years. The people deserve to celebrate your homecoming, to look at the face of their future ruler with confidence in what will come next. You are right, Brienne, _I am still the Evenstar_ and this is my order.”

Brienne nodded, defeated as her father shrank back down, the energy leaving him as quickly as it came. She closed her eyes tightly, guilt overwhelming her. She tried to spend these moments with her father in peace and good conduct, trying to give him the obedient and doting daughter she had deprived him of for so many years but it always seemed to turn into these ugly moments where her anxiety ripped through them both. 

“How is your squire getting along?” he asked, soft spoken as he leaned forward to meet the spoonful of soup she held for him.

“Wonderfully. I guess he isn’t a squire any longer, but I have him working with new recruits. Ser Cassian said eight more smallfolk have approached asking to serve since we’ve been home. Five of them women!”

“And Ser Jaime?”

Her father had tiptoed around the subject of the older knight, and Brienne wouldn’t willing bring him up. Lord Selwyn knew he had been sent to Tarth directly because Brienne spoke up for him, wouldn’t stop vouching for all the honor she implored so many that he possessed. Yet, when the subject of Jaime was broached she stiffened like a clam, even if she was continuously directing her household staff to see to his needs.

She wondered just how much he knew. Had he ever heard the rumors of his daughter, the Maid of Tarth, running around all of Westeros with Lannister gold around her waist? She had seen him look at Oathkeeper contemplatively. Was the Kingslayer’s whore part of the songs he liked to tease her about, or had tales of the weeks spent curled against each other beneath northern furs ever make it to him? Had he half expected her to turn up, belly round and full with a Lannister babe?

How could she tell him that the rumors were more than half-truths? That she was at once Jaime’s whore and his champion and his lover and his villain. Yet in what should have been his last breathe she was his nothing, and he was her all. 

“I suppose he’s healing well, at least Maester Samson says he is, I haven’t spoken to him myself. I don’t see anyone much though, too many damned cows roving through fields that are not their own.”

\---

The blunted training swords cracked together as Brienne stepped forward to counter Sigrid’s parry.

“Get her, Ser Brienne!” 

“Don’t give up, Captain!”

Chants rallied around them as the women faced off. Breath heaving, sweat pouring, and eyes shining with adrenaline. The sun was setting behind them, painting the sky with fiery reds and pinks.

Sigrid moved to the left, torpedoing her sword downwards in successive swipes. Brienne evaded, blocking them each with a grunt. She took a sidestep, grasping her sword in two hands and spinning to land what would have been a fatal blow to Sigrid’s mid section. Her captain smiled down at the sword bumped against her armor, a laugh escaping her.

The group of women that had been watching the spar cheered, and walked together to the guardhouse. Brienne was reluctant to leave them, listening as one of the youngest women, Guinevere, who was merely eighteen, recounted the spar with the flourishments of a bard. She had to hurry to her apartments though to change into more appropriate attire for the feast. The thought of what sort of horrid gown that would be made her stomach queasy, but she reminded herself she was doing it for her father and could bare one meal in a bone crushing corset.

On her way back through the yards she caught sight of Jaime, sweat running down his face and neck as he poked at something in the forge’s hearth. She had heard he had been spending much time in there. She thought unkindly of what Lord Tywin would be saying of his son, and heir of Casterly Rock, doing little more than acting as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Yet it made her satisfied to know he was being useful to somebody.

He saw her, bowing politely as she peered inside. Edmund was nowhere in sight. She wanted to ask if he was joining them at the feast, but thought better of it, offering nothing more than a terse nod in return before she left.

She did find Edmund in her apartments along with Maester Samson and two handmaids. Before she could ask them what they were all standing around for, a glint in the corner of the room caught her eye.

The armor was magnificent, gleaming as the last rays of sun touched it. Intricate golden designs adorned the shoulder pieces, weaved with moons and suns and delicate swirls. The gold weaved down through the breast plate and plackart, down to the thigh and shin coverings and ending in a beautiful moon on the right foot and sun on the left. 

“A parcel, my lady, from Lady Sansa.”

Maester Samson was holding a large package wrapped in parchment. She took it from him, noting how it was heavy, yet soft. Ripping through the paper she unveiled a long cloak dyed sapphire blue, Tarth’s symbols stitched onto the back in Sansa’s steady embroidering. The handmaid's helped her into the new armor, though she had to provide some instruction on how to fasten it properly. The suit felt light and new and made her stand as tall as she could. Sansa’s cloak was affixed beneath the shoulder plates and flowing behind her. 

“It’s wonderful,” she said quietly, hoping her voice wouldn’t break as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Edmund nodded, happy that his work was appreciated. “I had help though, that Jaime Lannister has a good eye for detail.”

She fastened Oathkeeper around her waist, the gold lions and suns of the sword belt complimenting the new suit perfectly. Exiting her chambers she could already hear the swelling sound of music and voices from the great hall.

Jaime stood tucked behind a column at the back of the room, Podrick beside him. Edmund had asked if Jaime wanted to accompany him to show Brienne the armor he had helped create but he declined. He almost begged the blacksmith not to say a word to her about his involvement, but Brienne had seen him in the forge on her way back and forth from the training fields even if she pretended not to. She would know he had _something_ to do with the new suit.

Though he physically did little more than keep the fire hot and helped steady the anvil when an extra hand was needed, the suits fit was his idea as well as the motif of Tarth’s arms flowing across the armor in delicate gold. Brienne wasn’t one for theatrics in her clothing so he knew it had to be subtle, but she deserved the extraordinary.

The music quieted, the room turning to the entrance as Brienne stood beside her father. Jaime straightened as he took her in, his emotions cycling as he watched her stride through the crowd. Her head held high as she approached the front of the room, she turned to peer at the gathering before her. Blushing and trying to steady her expression as her father announced her to the cheering crowd, she looked like more than a queen.

She was the warrior made flesh, and Jaime realized as her eyes met his, softening ever slightly, that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all I have ever wanted is for Brienne to be surrounded by warrior women who admire her and would die for her in an instant. You can't tell me that dozens of little girls growing up on Tarth wouldn't hear the stories of their liege lady and not be like "hell yeah I'm gonna go ahead and be a knight too!!"
> 
> Also, Jaime and Brienne's love language is DEFINITELY gift giving and servitude and I wanted to explore that a little bit with Jaime helping work on the new armor and Brienne thinking she's so sly making she he's taken care of even if she refuses to talk to him. It's going to be a slow journey, but they'll get there! 
> 
> Really hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's over guys :( How's everyone feeling after the finale?? I loved all the things that had nothing to do with the plot or dialogue (the acting, cinematography, THE SCORE!), but to say I'm disappointed with what the writers chose is an understatement. I spent the hour after the episode working on this chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading =)

Her eyes had met Jaime’s across the Great Hall, over the cheering of her troops, her household staff, and the smallfolk that had been lucky enough to find a spot inside Evenfall while even more lingered around the courtyards, and she had for a moment forgotten. She had forgotten what had brought the two of them to this place and only seen the tenderness in his eyes. The same wide eyed, parted lips look he’d bestowed upon her a hundred times. Behind the walls of Winterfell he’d follow the look with a kiss; to her palm, to her cheek, to her lips.

Just as soon as she had forgotten, she remembered as her fingers fidgeted around Oathkeeper’s lion head pommel. Looking at him was like biting into a rotten fruit, expecting all the sweetness and getting nothing but a bitterness rising in her mouth.

The cheers became overwhelming and Brienne turned her back on the crowd, suddenly, trying not to fumble as she hurried to a seat beside her father’s. He looked at her with pride while he lifted his cup to signal the feasting should begin. 

Jaime sat at the end of a long table in the back with Podrick, Edmund coming to join a seat opposite them. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling settling in his gut. If he had chosen differently, maybe he’d be sitting on Brienne’s other side, taking her nervous fingers in his and stroking his thumb against her skin until her anxiety subsided. He could see himself beside her, a jewel toned tunic, maybe even a cloak to match hers made by the Lady of Winterfell. He would whisper jokes into her ear until the smile she would fight won out and her people could look upon her radiance instead of the unease in which she watched them now.

But he had chosen Cersei, had chosen death beside a woman he no longer loved just to bring her comfort. The taste of ashes rose in his mouth and he grabbed at the wine decanter a kitchen girl had just set down, filling his cup and gulping it down in a way only Tyrion would have approved of.

\---

Lord Selwyn had retired to his chambers shortly after finishing his meal, refusing to let Brienne leave with him. _Be with your people_ , he had whispered into her hair as Maester Samson helped him down from his seat. The feast was loud and full of people mingling throughout the hall and out onto the grounds, the bards singing from the courtyard something cheerful that she couldn’t quite hear. Pod was sitting atop one of the long tables surrounded by Sigrid, Guinevere and a handful of other soldiers, recounting for not the first time that night how Brienne had defeated the Hound.

“And then, she punched him off a cliff. I’d never seen anything like that happen before, it was amazing,” he concluded, his words slurring and body swaying as he mimicked the Hound’s bloodied face going slack. 

Brienne smiled into her cup, pretending there was no warmth rushing to her face.  
“Tell us about when she fought a bear!” another soldier said, the group of them jostling around each other.

“I wasn’t there for that one, but Ser Jaime was!” Podrick looked around but didn’t see the older knight anywhere in the hall.

“To Ser Brienne, Lady of Tarth!” Guinevere stood suddenly, raising her goblet towards the dais. This was followed by a chorus of the chant , more cups flying into the air and wine sloshing just slightly.

Her eyebrows quirked up and she lifted her cup in thanks of them, but did not continue to drink. Feeling awkward and stifled, she stood from her seat and headed for the guest corridor and out to the training fields. The moon was high, the seabreeze crisp as the waves crashed against the rocks below. Closing her eyes, Brienne took in a deep breath, relaxing into the solitude.

There was a crash at the forge that forced Brienne’s eyes open and hand to fly to Oathkeeper. Jaime emerged suddenly, tripping over himself unceremoniously. He saw her and winced just slightly.

“Oh,” she said half surprise, half disappointed. She had almost wanted a fight.

“My lady, Ser,” he said, almost apologetically. His words slowed by drink.“You know, once you’re the Evenstar your titles will be almost as much of a mouthful as the Queen’s.”

Brienne leveled him with that look; head cocked ever slightly, eyes narrowing and lips drawn in disapproval. The one she used when she thought he was being an idiot. Jaime merely quirked his brows, sighing as he moved over to some boulders at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the Narrow Sea. He stretched over them like a cat, turning so his back scratched against the rock, his neck cracking as he tipped his head backwards, eyes closed and feeling the breeze cut through him.

When he opened his eyes she was still looking at him. The wine in his belly soured. The silence stretched and he knew he should let it be, but it made him churn and ache for a quip or a fight or a kiss.

“It looks good on you,” he said, eyes raking over her in the armor, the gold intricacies shining in the moonlight.

“Edmund is a skilled blacksmith,” she walked forward, folding her hands atop a smaller boulder to his right. She looked out into the dark sea, the stars dotting the black night above them. She took a breath and then,“He said you helped.”

“Not really,” Jaime denied. He was lost in the in the sheen of her cheekbone, the way it glowed as if the moon itself was trapped within her skin. 

She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes, “Don’t fake modesty. I know your influence when I see it. It’s a beautiful suit.”

“Maybe a bit then,” he allowed, sensing an agitation growing in her and not wanting to set her off like he did the last time they spoke. At least she was speaking to him now, no matter how clipped the words came from her.

“Well, thank you. It will serve me well,” she said each word like she was forcing it out. “And I am glad that you’ve found some occupation for yourself. Best to not waste your days.”

“Waste my days?” he shook his head, the fog of the wine growing heavier over him. “I am a butchered man, my pains are so numerous I can’t even--”

“And whose fault is that?” she snapped at him, eyes meeting his in a blaze.

He swallowed whatever words were going to follow, treading carefully as he continued, “I just needed a few days rest.” He paused. “I like working with Edmund, he’s a good fellow.”

Brienne sighed, looking back out to the sea before dropping her head into her hand, rubbing the spot on her forehead just above her brows. The week had exhausted her. Between trying to remember how to run not only a household but an entire island and struggling to keep her own emotions in check, she just wanted the night to end. Jaime was depleting her of whatever decorum she had left.

“Brienne if I could speak candidly, about that night I--” 

The words rushed from his mouth, jumbling together almost incoherently. 

“Don’t,” she said, a whisper and a warning. 

She felt pressure on her forearm and looked down to see his hand touching the armor. She drew away from him, pulling her arm as if it had been burned.

“You are drunk, Ser Jaime. And you forget yourself after you’ve had too much drink,” she said coldly.

Jaime straightened as much as he could, putting a distance between them. He bowed, slightly, his face a mask to the upset beneath. The picture of politeness, he said rigidly, “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Ser Brienne. Your home is more beautiful than you ever let on, and I am honored that you’ve allowed me stay.”

She said nothing but allowed a glance to him and a tight nod, before turning her head towards the endless sea.

“Goodnight, Ser,” he said quietly, leaving her to stare out into the dark on her own, his stomach turning sick with wine and desperation.

\---

Brienne left one morning for a village on the Northern shore of Tarth where a rockslide from the mountain had occured in the night. It damaged a number of homes and killed at least one in it’s wake. It was a half day’s ride and her father sent her in his stead. Days had passed and Brienne was still out there, watching over the rebuild, and sorting through the chaos of the panicked and scared villagers.

It made Jaime’s resolve to keep a distance between himself and the Lady of Tarth much easier if she wasn’t around. He knew after the feast that there would be no slipping back into their old easy ways, that whatever he broke between them was nearly irreparable. A cordial relationship was the most he could hope to resurrect.

He fell into a routine rather quickly. He’d take breakfast in his chambers, then go to see Maester Samson for his injuries, find Edmund in the forge by the afternoon and help with whatever armor repair or weapon builds he had, and wait until Podrick came to find him for dinner. Sometimes they’d leave for the inn nearest to Evenfall, but more often than not they took their meal in Jaime’s quarters. Never in Podrick’s, it was too close to Brienne’s, even with her gone for several days. After Podrick left him, he’d sit and stare at the ceiling, sometimes with a book in his hand that he pretended to read.

He had gotten so bored the fourth night since Brienne’s leaving, that he grabbed up Widow’s Wail from its post against the wall after getting an extra whetstone from the forge, and began to slowly work at the Valyrian Steel.

“Lannister!” A voice called from his doorway.

He looked up to see a slender woman, wearing soft leather armor instead of her usual steel, leaning against his doorway. “Captain Sigrid,” he said, continuing to gradually rub the stone against the blade.

“Fine sword you’ve got there.” She nodded to Widow’s Wail balancing on his lap. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Is it just decoration, or do you plan on using it again?”

Brows furrowed, Jaime stopped and looked up at her. Her hands on either side of the doorway she leaned in, an expectant look on her face. “I don’t fight anymore,” he grumbled.

“That’s not what Podrick Payne says. Said you were taking out dead things left and right during the Long Night. Even threw one off our lady with your missing hand.”

Jaime scoffed, “That was a long time ago. And where were you all during that fight? Don’t remember many Tarth banners flying against the army of the dead.”

Sigrid shrugged, “Nobody asked us to come. Besides, somebody had to watch the Stormlands in case those scum of the Iron Islands decided they wanted to play pirate.”

“Convenient,” Jaime smiled bitterly.

She stepped into the room, looking around it, hands on her hip. “Maybe you’re not the best swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms any longer.” She dismissed his snort with a wave of her hand. “But certainly, you can become the best one-handed swordsman.”

A look of mistrust passed his face, before he shook his head, staring back down at the task he had set for himself.

“We can use every man we can get,” she said more sincerely, “The kingdom is in turmoil now. We heard stories of what happened in King’s Landing, and if the Queen decides, one breath of her dragon can turn this island to ash. We need to be prepared, just until the dust settles. And it would be a waste to have a Knight sitting around, mending the nicks in our armor.”

She waited, watched as his expression flickered, before sitting in the other wooden chair beside him. “Come on, Ser Jaime. I’ll help train you myself. I’m left-handed, and we can train before dawn and after dusk when no one will see if you’d prefer. Until you get your strength back and then you can join us in the yards.”

He stood, flourishing Widow’s Wail in a spin with his left hand, grimacing as it pulled at his sore shoulder. Sigrid smirked, her braids bouncing as she stood quickly, taking this as confirmation of her request.

“Better get some rest then, Lannister. We start at dawn.”

\---

The training had been brutal. Sigrid was not one to go lightly and after the second day Ser Cassian had joined them as well. He snapped orders at Jaime in a way that his kind face made nearly impossible to believe he was a capable of doing. The master of arms was a small man, but with a mighty bellow.

An hour in the morning with Sigrid and Ser Cassian and an hour after dinner with Pod, Jaime was starting to feel more at ease with the sword than he had in a long time. When he had trained with Bronn, all those years ago, the sellsword was good but lacked any ability to actually teach. Sigrid helped Jaime truly acclimate to a left-handed stance, while Ser Cassian never went easy as an opponent, striking hard and true. As his old bruises healed, new ones were appearing, but they came with a sense of pride. Even Maester Samson remarked on his growing strength.

“She’ll be proud of you,” Podrick said as he helped Jaime clean up the practice swords and shields in the armory after one of their nightly sessions. “Ser Brienne, I mean.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “She can barely stand the sight of me. Gaining some strength in my arm isn’t going to change that.”

“That’s not true, Ser,” Pod said softly, watching as Jaime fidgeted around the blunted practice swords.

“ _You_ saw what I did to her Pod. That isn’t going to go away.”

“And I hated you for it, but I’ve forgiven you. So will she,” Podrick replied with naive confidence.

“I’m just trying to make a life here, so I can die with some amount of peace even knowing the woman I love doesn’t--”

Jaime cut himself off at the pensive look that overtook Podrick’s face. “Do you really love her, Ser?” he asked almost solemnly.

Hadn’t he been the one to give her precious gifts? To risk his life for her more than once? To follow her straight to the end of the world?

The question was so absurd to Jaime, yet at the same time he had never named his love for her even to himself. It was just a feeling that had settled over him at some point in time that he did not fully remember, and only grew heavier every time he saw her. It was admiration and then friendship and then a touch starved ache in his gut to be near her. 

(Hadn’t he been the one to leave?)

“Of course I do.”

“Does she know?” Podrick asked, his voice serious. 

“I don’t know,” Jaime spluttered, “Maybe she did at one point, I never told her as much so I can’t be sure.”

 _"You never told her?"_

“It doesn’t matter!” Jaime nearly shouted, wanting the conversation to be done. “She won’t ever love me again after what I put her through, and I need to find a way to live with that.”

Podrick was quiet for a moment, putting the last shield that he had been holding up on it’s hook. “I hope you’re wrong, Ser,” he said, a small, sad smile hinting at the corners of his lips. 

Jaime had waved Podrick off afterwards, making an excuse about needing to attend to something in the forge before he went back to his quarters. After Podrick left the armory, Jaime unsheathed Widow’s Wail, his whetstone in hand, and began to sharpen the blade. He lost himself in the monotony of it, letting his mind clear and his heart to settle from the pains Podrick’s questions stirred within him. 

\---

Her armor was digging into her, it’s full weight being felt after the long and hard ride home. The pain was nothing compared to the frustration growing in her. It had been nearly a fortnight of overseeing repairs and having to deal out new land treaties that she didn’t understand. She tried to be as fair as she could, but ruling on property lines and land usage were not things she was familiar with. When the builders started to grow ill with sunsick, slowing down the swift reconstruction she had promised, the villagers ran riot against her. She had been staying at the same inn as the displaced smallfolk, hoping it would show her solidarity with them, but it turned into a ceaseless nightmare. Shouts for the _real Evenstar_ happened sooner than she would of expected. She cried more than once in her rooms.

It was late in the night by time she dismounted and her father would already be asleep. She wouldn’t want to disturb him just to check in and see if he was feeling well. Maester Samson had sent her daily ravens updating his condition, and the raven that morning before she left said he had been steady. She needed a release, and not just from the heavy armor.

After her armor had been removed and she was left in nothing but her soft linens, Brienne walked briskly to the armory, Oathkeeper already in hand when she threw the door open. She hadn’t noticed it was not locked in her hurry, and maybe if she had the sight of Jaime thrusting about with a practice sword would not have startled her so much.

“My lady,” Jaime had said, the same surprise echoing back at her. “You’re home.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice edged with stress.

“Just a bit of training. I’ll get out of your way.”

He looked stronger, she noticed, the muscles in his arms and the bit of chest peeking out from his collar more defined. “No,” she said suddenly, her grip on Oathkeeper tightening. “Come on, let’s go. Where’s your sword?”

Jaime looked down at the blunted blade.

“You’re real sword. Widow’s Wail,” she urged him and Jaime didn’t dare defy her. He threw the practice weapon aside, drawing Widow’s Wail from his hip. 

They were on each other quickly, her legs carrying her to him before he had time to fully adjust his stance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear enough by how much I make Jaime stare at Brienne, I have such a crush on her. She's too good and pure and beautiful!! Also I cut this chapter off so it wasn't a billion years long but the fight scene will continue right where I'm leaving it off, and I'm hoping to get that up in the next two or so days!
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd get this chapter out a few days after the last one, but the scenes in it were super important to me. I wanted to make sure I got them right so it took a bit longer than I was expecting! But I hope it paid off and you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

Brienne bared down on him, letting Oathkeeper slash heavily. Jaime met her at every stride. They maneuvered around each other, flowing in easy steps, knowing each other’s moves as if they were their own.

He held her off more easily than he could have in the past. A smile played at his lips as she beckoned him to her. He took the bait and stepped to her, adrenaline taking over as he sunk into her again and again and again.

Her back hit the wall of the armory. Heady breathes mixed together as they waited in the pause. He was against her, sword and body, chest heaving with a sheen of sweat.

Brienne pushed him off, her frustration giving way to pleasure and she smirked at his fumble.

“What have you been doing while I was away?” she asked, circling around him, almost admiring the peaks of muscles his open jerkin afforded her.

He answered with an amused grin, the old lion appearing as he flourished Widow’s Wail.

They crashed together, steel singing against steel, Jaime’s sword grinding against hers. Brienne lost herself in the sound. Her mind blanked, and nothing existed but Jaime and the threat of valyrian steel inches from her skin.

He parried her advance once more, but the arch of his blade twisted his shoulder. Jaime contorted with a grimace, the blade loosening from his grip and biting into Brienne’s arm. A spot of red bloomed at her forearm as she looked at it dumbfounded.

“Brienne, I’m sorry,” he rushed to her, Widow’s Wail clanging to the ground so his hand could pull up the sleeve of her tunic. His fingers caressed against her skin for the first time in months.

She tore away from him like he was a burning flame and cradled her hurt arm to her chest.

 _“Don’t touch me,_ ” she rattled with fury. Depleted from the fight and days of unending frustration, she couldn’t build the same walls back up to shield herself from him and tears spilled from her eyes without permission.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get to touch me anymore,” she choked, her voice thick and eyes shut tightly against the waves coming from them in an uncontrollable force. “I _grieved_ for you. _I loved you_ , but it didn’t matter, _I didn’t matter_.”

He had been waiting, he realized, for this moment. Since she had spoken at his trial, letting him know through her omissions that she been witness to his last moment with Cersei. “I know what I said, _I know_ ,” he begged, not wanting to say the actual words. “I said it believing we were going to die. I only said it to bring her comfort.”

“What of my comfort?” she snapped, meeting his eyes finally, hers glistening with all the pain she had kept guarded. “I trusted you. I never expected you to share the feelings I harbored all these years. I never asked that of you, but you chose it. _You_ chose to come to my rooms, _you_ chose to stay your nights in my bed, _you_ chose to whisper your words in my ear. _You_ chose that.”

“And I’d choose it a thousand times over. And yet…” he swallowed, pushing forward to speak his truth, “I’d still go to King’s Landing and try to save my child. My last chance to be the father I was never allowed to be.”

In a voice so quiet Jaime wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear, she said, “I let you have my body, my heart. I can still feel you on my skin when I try to sleep.”

Oathkeeper had fallen to the ground, and Brienne folded her arms around herself. Her vulnerability always startled him. “I never would have asked you to choose between me and Cersei. She had a lifetime with you, and I have mere moments spread across too many years apart. I know I cannot compare with that. But I thought at least, _at least_ , that I meant _something_ to you. That you would not dishonor me by sharing my bed with an empty heart.”

Her voice shook as she tried desperately to regain her composure. Jaime stepped towards her. Tentatively reaching out, his fingers chanced a touch at her wrist though her arm stayed clasped tightly around her middle. He wanted to pull, to pry her open and stop the walls from reforming around her. Her chin quivered against her resolve.

“I loved you, I love you still,” he spoke with such confidence, like saying so out loud was such an easy thing for him to proclaim. A strangled noise emitted from her at the words and she cast her eyes away from him. “I regret many things, but when it comes to you I only regret leaving you in doubt of that.”

She broke again, fresh tears at her eyes. Wordlessly she shook her head, as if willing all the words he’d said to leave her ears and her memory. Her arm fell slightly, allowing Jaime’s thumb to rub against her quickening pulse.

The door clanged open and the surprise froze them in this moment of intimacy. A boy neither of them recognized stood at the opening, no older than ten and no sense of understanding that he’d interrupted something. He ran forward to meet the pair in the center of the room, a scroll held out in his dirt smudged hand.

“A message for you, Ser. From King’s Landing!”

“Give it here,” Brienne said, covering her strained voice with authority and coolness.

“Sorry, Ser, not for you. It’s for Ser Jaime.”

Eyes narrowing, Jaime stepped away from Brienne to take the scroll from the boy who disappeared into the night as swiftly as he had come between them. Unraveling, he read the short note quickly.

“It’s from Tyrion,” he said tightly, showing the note to Brienne.

\---

“Greyjoy rebels to invade Tarth. Prepare yourselves,” Brienne read out loud in her father’s chambers. He was laid in bed as herself, Jaime, Ser Cassian, Maester Samson and Sigrid stood around him.

“And it was your brother, our Lord Hand, that sent this? Without official seal of the Queen?” Her father wheezed, falling into a coughing fit.

Jaime had not wanted to be in this room, but Brienne insisted as it was his brother that sent the note. Standing here at the foot of her father’s bed, Jaime felt like he was intruding. “Yes, my lord. I presume it to mean that he sent it without Queen Daenerys’ permission.”

“She doesn’t mean to send us any assistance. We’re to fight on our own,” Brienne said, the realization setting in. A punishment for her own betrayal against the Queen.

“I thought the Iron Islands had been claimed for the Queen long ago, how could there be Greyjoy rebels?” Sigrid questioned, studying the note after Brienne passed it to her open hand.

“The Greyjoy fleet had split loyalties. Half were declared for Cersei, and fought for her against Queen Daenerys. I can only assume that some of those ships escaped the battle and are taking arms up against any one they feel they can.” Jaime explained.

“If they think Tarth is an easy target, they’ll be mistaken,” Sigrid grizzled. Brienne appreciated Sigrid’s confidence, but the truth of the matter was their army wasn’t prepared for any kind of battle. Though they trained hard and were loyal, fierce warriors, most of them had never been in combat.

“We have no ships, we cannot fight on open waters,” Ser Cassian said, taming the captain’s confidence.

“How long do you think we have?” Brienne asked, looking to Jaime.

He shook his head, “I can’t pretend to know, but, Tyrion would want to give you as fair a warning as possible—“”

“Us,” she interrupted, eyes turning to her. “You live on this island as well, Ser Jaime.”

“Us a fair warning,” he repeated, drawing his eyes from her to her father. “He would have bargained for the Queen’s assistance first and after she refused he would have sent the raven right away. I would guess they are at least a few days out.”

“What about Lord Baratheon?” Sigrid suggested.

Maester Samson frowned, “The Stormlands have been without a proper unifier for some years now. Not everyone trusts him, the smallfolk call him the Bastard Lord. I’m not sure many would fight for him should he call arms quite yet. And still, no one in Shipbreaker’s Bay has the means to take on a Greyjoy ship.”

“Fine,” Brienne said, her teeth gritted. “We don’t know what direction they’re coming from, but we need to send riders to the Eastern shores.” There was a small table in the solar with a wooden map of Tarth carved on top of it. Brienne moved over to the map, studying it as the others watched her.

Jaime moved to stand on the other side of the table,scrutinizing the map, “What’s the most populated town on this side of the island?”

Brienne pointed towards the northernmost port town. “Ships often stop here when sailing to or from Dorne. There’s a sizeable trade market and more than a few inns.”

“If these men are like Euron Greyjoy, they’ll want to have their...fun. They’re not looking for a battle, they’re looking to pillage and rape. Nobody knows about the infantry you have here. That’s why they’re choosing Tarth to attack. They probably expect it to just be Brienne and a handful of guards defending the entire island on their own. And they’d assume she’ll be close to Evenfall.”

“You think we should concentrate to the north?” Brienne asked, coming around the table to stand next to him.

“I do. If we keep quiet enough, and they don’t expect an attack, they might anchor here at this beach,” Jaime pointed to a small stretch of beachfront three miles south of the docks for the port town. “They’ll assume there is more of them than us and their guard will be down.” 

She looked to Sigrid. “Wake the troops. Send pairs out to the shore towns, one to begin gathering the villagers and send them to Evenfall, where they will be sheltered during the fight. The other will keep watch at the highest point they can find. As soon as they spot any ship larger than a merchant craft they are to send a signal.”

“Ser Cassian see to the armory, and the blacksmith. We need to make sure we are prepared as possible and that includes all armor and weapons repairs. Have them ready to move by nightfall tomorrow.”

“I can help Edmund in the forge,” Jaime suggested.

“No,” Brienne shook her head at the suggestion. “I need you, to fight and to help strategize. You were intimate with Euron Greyjoy’s tactics, your insight is valuable.” She moved towards her father’s bed before adding, “Choose a few soldiers to remain here and guard Evenfall. And I want at least two posted outside father’s solar.”

Ser Cassian nodded, leaving after quickly for the Guard House.

“These will be hard days ahead of us,” Lord Selwyn interrupted, his voice strained and tired. 

Brienne lowered her head, her father’s hand having found hers and squeezing with all his remaining strength. “I’ll write to Gendry, just in case there’s something he could do,” Brienne said to no one in particular, her voice holding a weariness she had been masking around the others. 

Lord Selwyn cleared his throat, forcing himself to sit up a bit straighter in his bed. “Ser Jaime, would you mind a few minutes of your time?”

Brienne left them reluctantly after saying goodnight to her father and promising that she wouldn’t fail in this battle. In the new quietness of the solar, Jaime felt entirely exposed to this man. Before the previous day he had barely said more than two words to the Evenstar beyond a brief introduction through Maester Samson the day after his arrival to Tarth.

“You were the one to knight my daughter,” Lord Selwyn said more than asked.

It wasn’t what Jaime was expecting and he faltered under the odd declaration. His eyes were blue as Brienne’s but with a line of firmness in them that she didn’t possess. “I did.”

“I wanted to thank you for that. I was always afraid to indulge Brienne in what she wanted the most because I didn’t believe she could ever achieve it. Not that I ever underestimated her ability but rather the ability of others to see past what they expected her to be. A foolish thought,” he said sadly, brows furrowing in regret.

“I can think of no person more deserving of the title,” Jaime said honestly, moving around the map table to where Lord Selwyn was seated.

“You have given Brienne her greatest joy and in my last stage of life that has been the most important thing to me. I cannot offer you much Ser Jaime, but whatever I can give you, it is yours.”

“I ask for nothing.”

He smiled then, a small, tired grin. Reaching out he pat Jaime’s stump, then took it in his grasp with an affectionate shake. “Then I only have one ask of _you_. Continue to bring her happiness.”

Jaime left the solar unsure how he could keep the dying man’s wish.

\---

The troops had rallied before Ser Cassian had even a chance to wake them. Once Sigrid had woken the scouts, news traveled through the barracks, and most of the household guard did not sleep for the rest of the night. They polished their weapons to a deadly sheen, inspected their own armor, and awaited their commanders in the training yard.

Brienne hadn’t slept. She mused over a map of Tarth for hours, racking her brain against how to prepare the coming attack. She still hadn’t rested for a moment when Maester Samson came to her at first light, asking that they gather the steward and household staff and prepare them for the possible arrival of hundreds of smallfolk. They’d need shelter and food and an escape plan if necessary.

Podrick had woken to the commotion and set out in the night on Brienne’s behalf to speak with the merchant’s who were docked on the island, asking them for their fealty, and their pledge to harbor the villagers across the bay and to Storm’s End if the fight was lost.

Jaime set to work with Edmund in the night, taking inventory of the repairs that needed to be done and setting the blacksmith up for as easy a system as possible. Edmund in his own turn had a gift for Jaime. The steel plated armor was light in weight and matched the chrome of the other Tarth soldiers. A small gold embellishment of Tarth’s shield rested on the right shoulder, a lion etched into the left.

It was nearing the end of daylight when Sigrid collected him from the forge to meet in Lord Selwyn’s solar. In the middle of the room was the small wooden table with a topographical map of Tarth carved on top of it. Brienne stood over it, the stained glass windows of the Evenstar’s apartment dancing across her armor, her cape resting at her shoulders. Podrick was beside her, his leathers new and tougher. 

Brienne looked up when they entered, looking over the way the armor sat upon him. Her eyes rested on the Tarth symbol. “You should have rested,” she said suddenly, breaking from her spell with a look that could have been gentle if it weren’t for the dark circles of exhaustion and worry that had settled under eyes. 

“And you as well,” he echoed.

“The scouts should be in place within the next few hours, hopefully they’ll be able to see an approach with at least a few hours notice,” Sigrid announced as she entered after him.

“Lord Tyrion didn’t say how many ships were coming?” Podrick asked. They tried their best over the next hour to create a comprehensive plan against an unknown force. If only Tyrion had allowed them a few more details, but Jaime had known from the handwriting that the letter had been written in haste. There wasn't much more they could do now, besides pray to every god they knew that they were right.

“Ser Cassian and Captain Sigrid, start moving the troops out and make sure the guards remaining here are in place. We will meet you up the Center Road shortly.” 

“They won’t know what hit them, Ser,” Sigrid said, a dangerous smirk on her lips before she vanished to the hall. 

Brienne appreciated Sigrid’s confidence but the heaviness in her chest grew larger, clawing its way at her throat as the weight of the island fell upon her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! A looming battle!!!!! High emotions!!!!! 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Your support on this fic so far has been AMAZING!! I'm going to say we're about halfway through at this point, give or take. Hope to have the next part up very soon!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning for these chapters to be shorter than they end up being and having more scenes in them than they end up having! I got very Into the battle (which I have never written a battle before so I hope it came out alright!) and didn't want the chapter to drag on for too long. Hoping to get another one up before the end of this weekend :)
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for all the support and response on this fic. Writing it has honestly helped my broken little heart feel better about the show and I hope it does the same for you reading it!

Brienne watched as grey storm clouds darkened the horizon. It was clear and blue above Tarth, but the storm was approaching quickly and still there had been no sign of any Greyjoy ships. She stood at the edge of a plateau overlooking the beach where they were hoping the attackers would anchor. Fifty soldiers had been camped throughout the hills and beaches of the eastern shore since the night before. The wind whispered from the sea, flurrying Brienne’s cape behind her, and sighing across her cheeks. 

Maybe Tyrion had been wrong and she’d started a panic for nothing. Townsfolk had been arriving in huddled masses when she set out with the troops, fear etched on all their faces. Tarth hadn’t been attacked in centuries, and even then they’d needed the help of Targaryen dragons to ward off invaders. 

She hated the waiting. It made her blood boil as her heart pumped faster and faster with every passing moment. Not even the familiar smell of the salty air could calm her. She ached for something to do; a distraction, a fight, any task at all. It was like the night before the Long Night all over again but without the comfort of songs and fires and knighthoods to warm her. There was nowhere to go but to stay watch on this hill.

“If they roll in with the storm, we won’t see them,” Captain Sigrid remarked to Jaime as they stood waiting inside a small cave on the beach below the hilltop with a handful of other soldiers. The salt from the sea tickled at his nose and burned down his throat. He had noticed the rolling grey sky, but his eyes were on Brienne. He could see her up on the grassy shelf, cheeks puffing out in agitation as she paced every few minutes before standing like a lone sentry to the island. Steel glinted from her armor and her eyes.

“Miraculous timing for them, makes you wonder whose side the gods are on,” Jaime quipped. He was nervous, more so than he had been in a long time. He had more experience than almost all that were with him, and the thought of so many green would-be knights dying in their first fight made him ill. A rage had lit inside him. If Cersei hadn’t accepted the deal from that slimy squid his men wouldn’t ever be anywhere near Tarth. 

“Ser,” Podrick’s voice rang out from behind Brienne, the beats of his coarser slowing. He dismounted, moving towards her quickly.

“What is it, Pod? Have they seen something?” 

He’d been up and down the shoreline, checking with the other makeshift garrisons. His head shook sullenly, and Brienne’s face fell. She groaned in agitation, “They’ll come with the cover of night, I know it. But if they have the storm over them as well…”

 

“We’ll face them just the same, Ser. Maybe the storm will give us coverage too, and we can use it to our advantage,” Pod offered, a small reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips but fell flat as Brienne turned from him to stare out at the stormy skies.

\--

It grew dark quickly, the winds slashing at exposed cheeks and hands but Brienne wouldn’t allow any fires to be started. Rain began to mist, gently at first and then plopping into the grass, slowly turning the hill to mush beneath their feet. As the rain pelted down harder the lightning flashed in quick successions, thunder booming after every burst.

A horn sounded from the north of the hill. _Something was approaching._ Podrick rode off on the coarser, a horn in hand to let the holds that fell south of them know.

The rain obscured their sight, the wind making it hard to hear, but Brienne gave her signals. Foot soldiers spread out across the hill, finding the steep but sure paths that would bring to the beach in a hurry. The archers readied their bows around her. 

In the cave Jaime held his hand out to steady the other soldiers, Sigrid waiting to signal him behind a boulder just in his sights.

Shrouded in the mist, a bow breached upon the sand. It was more massive than Jaime had remembered the ships being, though the gloom and his position far beneath them didn’t help give him the clearest picture. A second ship pulled in next to the right side of the first. 

Brienne breathed a small sigh of relief, they had gotten at least one thing right by stationing where they had. She gave a silent prayer to the Warrior, thanked him for Jaime’s insight and took her destier down to the beach. The horse trotted passed her hidden troops, passed the cave that could not be seen without knowing where to look, and passed the boulders Sigrid hid behind. 

“Turn your ships back now and there won’t be any blood,” she boomed into the darkness. Both ships stood silent as ghosts, no movement or sound to prove that anyone was manning them. 

Brienne waited, the silence growing. “I said turn your ship-”

“We heard you the first time.” 

A man emerged from between the two ships, a band of shadowed marauders spreading out behind him. She’d guess there was at least a force of one maybe two hundred. Even with just the lightning and chances of moonlight to see with Brienne could tell these men had been at sea a long while. Clothes torn, hair stringy and wet, and eyes that roamed wildly. Still wearing the tarnished grey of the kraken sigil, they held varied weapons in ready fists.

“Seems that we outnumber you, _milday_ ,” The man taunted, bowing deeply. A frenzied laugh came from behind him. “Hope you’ve got your strength about you, been a long time since we’ve had a woman, what with drifting out on that damned sea. And your big enough for the lot of us.”

Her grey destier whinied as a flash of lighting cracked overhead. Unsheathing Oathkeeper, she gave the sword a flourish in the air, hoping the archers would see the signal. She held a breath, waiting for the whirring to move past her. 

A dozen men fell, and it had begun. 

Mounted riders and foot soldiers streamed down through the hills, flooding the rebels from the left and right. Shouts of _“For Tarth!”_ sang over the roaring thunder. Arrows flew through the air, dropping men or landing in the sand for soldiers on the ground to pick up and use for their own. Horses charged through the sand, kicking it up and into the eyes of the raiders. They began to scatter, running left and right. Some found purchase on the rock cliff and began to climb. Sigrid signaled to Jaime, and he ushered the hidden soldiers out of the cave.

The fighting was wild and unruly in the way Jaime had feared. Jaime watched the Tarth forces as they tore down the raiders trying to scale the crag. He kept their backs, slashing alongside Sigrid as new forces ran from the middle and tried to climb up behind their brethren. They were scrambling, the wrath of Tarth completely unexpected.

Brienne had dismounted, finding herself in front of the man who had spoken. Broken teeth smiled at her. A slash of his broadsword missed her, the wet sand hard to keep his footing. In his other hand he raised a curved Dothraki arakh. She didn’t have time to ponder how he’d gotten it as she blocked the blow. 

He howled as she landed a slice to his thigh, and banged the arakh into her armor. It vibrated off, and her anger burst forth in a violent yell. Oathkeeper swung down on him, all her power behind the hits until he was fallen to the ground. Brienne wiped the rain that bleared her eyes, whirling just in time as two men ran at her, broken half spears in their hands.

At the cliffs, Jaime struggled to the keep the area clear. As soon as he’d dismantle one man it seemed he’d turn to see another readying to thrust their weapon into the back of a Tarth soldier. Hooking his stump around one of the rebels neck he pulled the man away from the young Guinevere who was fighting off two men of her own. The sand slipped from beneath him, sending Jaime to the ground and the man landed on top of him. He pushed with his might, but it was Sigrid that pulled the Greyjoy off, thrusting her broadsword into him. She pulled Jaime up by the stump, and he repaid her by a slash of Widow’s Wail across the chest of a man behind her.

Brienne’s yell found his ear, and Jaime couldn’t help but search for her. Just a few leagues ahead of him she stood, encircled by men with dangerous looks in their eyes. They thirsted to bring her down. 

Jaime charged forward, plunged Widow’s Wail into the neck of one, a strangled sound emitting from the man. It opened the circle and Jaime positioned himself at Brienne’s back. Together they dipped and slashed and cut at the men that kept coming, wanting nothing more than to be the ones to maim the Lady Knight.

There were cries all around the howling wind, and Brienne did all she could to shield herself from the death of her soldiers. Every woman’s shout splintered her heart and she sliced through the air with more vigor. She turned with Jaime at her back, dismantling almost a dozen together. Lightning cracked, and sand whipped around them in a flurry. Blinded, Brienne groped behind her until her hand found Jaime’s arm and she grabbed hold. Turning to face him, they stood flushed as the sand whirled around them using each other as a shield. 

“Are you alright,” he asked her breathily, when the sand settled. She blinked through the rain, her eyes burning from sand and salt. The area around them had been cleared, but not by some heavenly sand storm. Podrick was dismounting, a heavy whip cast aside that he had used to hurl the sand upwards. His sword swung gallantly at the backs of the ravagers as they groped at their weapons, half blind and swaying wildly.

She tried to nod to Jaime, but her eyes widened at something on at the horizon. He looked too, straining to see what the shape was.

A third ship approached, wielding a Scorpion and taking aim at the cliffside.

“They’ll start an avalanche,” she clawed at Jaime’s armor, desperate to steady herself and find a way to stop it. If the cliff fell they’d all almost certainly die in the crush.

He held on to her, mind whirling as fast as hers. He had ran at a dragon once with a spear and that seemed reasonable, but he didn’t think a spear was enough to stop this.

 _“Podrick!”_

Her yell rang in Jaime’s ear, and he saw then what had made her shout. The squire ran towards the ship, a handful of chromed soldiers behind him until they disappeared into the dark waters. There wasn’t time to go after them as the fight persisted around them. They moved together towards the cliffs, clearing as many as they could in their path.

Jaime had rushed forward to a soldier overwhelmed by three men, and throwing his body weight into one. Brienne shouted at the fighters that were still climbing after men that had hooked onto the cliffside. Her shouts fell unheard to the howling wind. 

Finally, Sigrid had come to her, noticing the unnerved look in her commander’s eye. 

“The Scorpion!” Brienne shouted, trying to make Sigrid understand. “It will destroy us.”

Sigrid’s head shook, not grasping what exactly she was yelling about. Brienne searched for Jaime, hoping he’d help her to explain how dire the situation was. She found his eyes as he scrambled back up from the sand, leaving two bodies beneath him. He nearly smiled at her, a wild look no doubt fueled equally by adrenaline and exhaustion. 

_“You big, dumb bitch!”_

Brienne almost rolled her eyes at the mocking voice, scowling as she turned to see that same sneering smile with less teeth than he had started with. She had been sure she had killed him. He held the broadsword above him like a warhammer, meaning to crush it down into her skull. Brienne pushed Sigrid out the way, launching her body with hers as the toothed man roared. The sword hit the sand but he pulled it up quickly. Jaime was already advancing towards them as Brienne pushed to her feet, two hands gripping at Oathkeeper’s neck to block.

She blocked and on his next upswing, slowed by injuries and fatigue, she thrust Oathkeeper into this belly. The body limped against her sword and before she had time to push him off with a heavy kick a rush of heat engulfed her. They all were knocked backwards, falling to the sand. Screams came from the cliffs, and Brienne was sure the worst had happened.

An explosion ripped a hole in the sky. Brienne sat up, staring at the fiery mass of what had been the third Greyjoy ship. Silhouettes jumped from the ship, and her heart crumbled. Bodies lay across the beach. They littered the bottom of the cliffside, hands losing their grip in the shock of the blast. For a moment the only sound was the pittering rain and the roar of fire.

Bodies began to stir on the beach, Tarth soldier and enemy alike trying to regain composure. Brienne took the moment to survey what was left of the battle. There were more slain Greyjoy men than anything else, but still enough were regaining themselves that the battle wasn’t over yet.

Jaime groaned from somewhere beside her, and she watched as he crawled over to a boulder, using it to help get back to his feet. Sigrid too was wobbly in her stance as she panted, palms pressed to her knee before she grabbed up the sword that had been knocked from her grip. 

“Podrick,” she whispered, pained and desperate to know where he was. Her feet were heavy as she struggled to stand, taking measured steps forward while her eyes searched where the water met sand and not seeing him emerge.

“My lady! My lady!” 

The voice sounded off, not like Podrick’s at all, and it took Brienne a moment to realize a mounted soldier was approaching her from the hills. It was one of the household guard, one that was supposed to be guarding her father.  


Brienne’s stomach dropped.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not moving to approach the mare. Fear kept her still, feet sinking into the sand beneath her.

“The Evenstar,” he said, the hurried tone all she needed to confirm her dread. 

“Go.” It was Jaime beside her, ushering her forward. “Go to him. We have this.” His eyes seemed even more green in the firelight as she searched him. He nodded, ever slightly, giving her permission to go where she was needed, to leave the fight.

Further behind him, Sigrid nodded her understanding as well, gripping her broadsword with two hands and turning her back to guard them both as Jaime watched Brienne swing onto the back of the mare. 

Thank you, she wanted to tell him, but the wind took the words from her mouth as the guard kicked the horse and they rode away from the blaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me why I made Jaime into a barreling little pinball trying to knock down any man that came near any of the Tarth soldiers, but it just Felt Right. (Also I have no idea how to strategize for any kind of military thing so let's pretend this battle makes sense, yeah?)
> 
> My apologies to Theon and Yara/Asha for besmirching their House name. *throws a kiss to the sea for my kraken babies*
> 
> Thank you for reading!! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop making guesses of how quickly I can write emotional scenes. It clearly takes me longer than I think it will, but I hope the wait is worth it!!! Also let me talk about Dany and the greater good of Westeros real quick. I genuinely do not know how to grasp the way the show ricocheted her into a completely different character with little to no build up for it. Sooo I'm gonna kinda sorta ignore her for this one?? I just don't know what to do with her at all. 
> 
> Again, you have my unimaginable thanks for reading, liking, commenting and subscribing to this little fic of mine!

The rain had not let up in the time it took Brienne and Ulric the household guard to reach Evenfall Hall. Droplets shook from her armor as she dismounted, clanging into the marbled entryway of the castle. The smallfolk huddling inside the Great Hall barely registered in her peripheral, nor did the way the household staff stared at her as she barreled through the corridors. Her heavy feet vaulted her up the stairway, her focus only on getting to the door of her father’s chambers.

Maester Samson stood from her father’s bedside as she opened the door. He offered her a small smile that soon turned to concern as he took her appearance in. Bruising was beginning to shine across her cheek, dirt and blood and sand clinging to her wet form. He kept quiet though, shuffling out of the room to give her privacy.

Candles kept a soft glow in the room, a cloth and small basin of cool water sat at the table beside him. Brienne approached quietly, taking the cloth in hand and pressing it tenderly to her father’s sweating face.

“Is that my starling?”

She had never heard her father’s voice so weak and quiet. Pressing the cloth to his damp forehead with her left hand, she took his hand into her right. He felt like nothing.

“It’s me, father,” she smiled down at him and he smiled back, his clouded eyes brightening as he opened them to see her. His right hand reached across to hold hers between his own. Withered fingers rubbed against her bare skin, and her eyes stung as she failed to hold back the tears.  


Placing the cloth on the bedside table she got down to her knees and bent her head down to her father’s hands as if in prayer. She pressed her lips to his knuckles, the tears darkening the heavy teal bedding that enveloped him.

“I am so proud of you,” he croaked and she wanted to tell him not to speak, to save his strength. She wanted him to last forever and ever. “You have done so many things in your life Brienne, so many great things.”

“Thank you,” she whispered to his hands.

“You are my greatest accomplishment. You will always have my love,” she felt his fingers tighten, trying to squeeze her own. She pressed another kiss to him, hoping to suffocate the rising ache in her throat and choke down her sobs. “And you have the love of your people. I only wish…”

He took a deep breath and Brienne could tell it was a struggle for him. “I only wish you found someone to love of your own. Empty castle halls grow lonely, especially in the summertime.”

She pulled up towards him, releasing her right hand from his to cradle her father’s cheek. “I did,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I loved someone, and he loved me too. Very much.”

His wide smile returned, and Selwyn let his eyes close against her touch. “A magnificent golden man, I’d imagine,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she let herself smile, despite the quiver of her voice and the tears that fell.

“Tell me then, my darling, tell me your story.”

And so she did. A tale of two knights who found something soft to love beneath the armor of the other. Brienne spun their story until her father’s hands weakened in hers and his chest forgot to rise.

\---

The sun had just barely crested over the horizon as Jaime approached Evenfall. The storm had moved passed, leaving a grey tint to the blue morning sky. Waves lapped against the rocks below the castle, Shipbreaker’s Bay gentling in the dawn’s light.

He was mixed into a band of soldiers who were relatively uninjured, coming to escort the smallfolk back to their homes. Still relatively unfamiliar with Tarth, Sigrid had charged him with the duty to report back to Ser Cassian and Brienne. She stayed back on the beach with those too hurt to move, and the remaining Greyjoy prisoners. 

Jaime dismounted to find Ser Cassian at the forefront of the castle grounds. He spoke with the master-at-arms quickly having spotted Ulric at his post inside the entrance hall and eager to get to him. As the soldiers divided themselves into groups and the castle steward instructed the townsfolk on their travels home, Jaime approached the house guard.

“Where is Ser Brienne?” he asked.

“In The Evenstar’s solar,” Ulric said, his mouth folded into a frown. “We haven’t seen her for hours.”

Jaime waited, leaning against the railing of the grand staircase, growing tired as the minutes passed. His arm was in pain, and he could feel a bruise forming on his left shoulder. He saw Maester Samson walking from the direction of his stores, a basket in his arms and his own steward at his heels. He gave the young apprentice the basket, offering him to the soldiers to take back to the battleground until he could make a trip there himself. Distracted, the Maester nearly walked into Jaime as he we went to ascend the stairs.

“Forgive me, Ser Jaime,” he said, breathless as if he’d been the one running from one end of Tarth to the other, “It’s been a rough few days.” He looked over Jaime then, eyes narrowing at a wound at his left temple. “Though I suppose you know that better than I.”

Jaime flinched from his view, moving to hide his wound from the Maester’s scrutiny. He wasn’t the one that needed fretting over. “Have you seen her?” 

The maester shook his head, “Not for a long while. I was just on my way to check, come.” He beckoned Jaime with a wave of his hand as he lifted his black robes and moved swiftly up the stairs. Reluctantly, Jaime followed behind, trailing by several steps as he wrestled with if she'd want to see him at this moment. He was just looking for confirmation that she was okay, knowing that Ser Cassian could repeat his battle report to her later.

The door opened suddenly, and both the Maester and Jaime stilled on the staircase. His heart ached at just the sight of her. Wet, stringy blonde strands stuck to her face and forehead, a purple bruise was blooming across her right cheekbone, her body slumping in the heavy armor. It was her eyes though that struck him the hardest, dulled and rimmed red with tears, heavy black circles beneath them. Her chin trembled as the Maester approached her. The smaller man clasped at her shoulder, a small sign of support, before moving passed her and into the chambers.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, barely a whisper as he let his feet carry him up the rest of the stairs to her. She didn’t even try to stop her tears as he approached. “He seemed a great man, I am truly sorry.”

She didn’t say anything, her wide face and shoulders shaking as she drew in a slow breath. Looking passed him she caught sight of the townsfolk gathering below, some staring at her.

“Come on,” he said, having followed her eyes and moved her along the corridor and away from their curious looks with his stump at her back. 

She was calmed for a moment until the storm of anxiety swelled inside her, stretching her insides excruciatingly and clawing out of her dried throat. “I have to get back to the grounds, to see the troops. And I have to tell Maester Samson about the...and the arrangements to be made, and the steward...”

She knew she was being incoherent, but there was so much to be done and all she could think of was her father growing weaker in her arms and the wails of the battle whispering in her ear. He wished she would just cry into him, let it all out before trying to act the tower of strength she always was.

“There are people to take care of all those things, _you_ need to rest. Let me call for your handmaidens to help you with this armor.”

Brienne shook her head, tears welling again. “I don’t want to be seen like this.”

Jaime clicked his teeth, looking up and down the corridor as if some solution would appear like a specter. His stump staid grounded on her back.

“Will you..would you let me help you then?” 

He pushed every word through like his mouth was filled with marbles. Her eyes shut away from him as he asked, but she nodded, and wordlessly he followed her to her quarters.

The drapes in her rooms were wide open, letting the sun rise through the sea glass adorned windows. A canopy bed with white silky curtains embroidered with delicate blue and pink threading sat in the middle of the room. Pristine white and sand colored furniture filled the large space, with a stand for her armor in the corner of the room, a wall mount for Oathkeeper next to it. He could imagine it looked as it did when she was younger, decorated by a Septa trying to draw out what Brienne kept hidden from others, the softest and most feminine parts of her.

Jaime moved to the windows first, drawing them closed and lighting the candelabras in the room to create a soft glow and hopefully lull Brienne into the sleep she desperately needed. She sat at the edge of her bed, wiping at her cheeks and eyes, only making them redder than they already were. She had unclipped her cape from her shoulders, letting it fall to the bed behind her. Before she could try to undo her armor on her own Jaime was at her side, working with her at the ties and clasps that held her together.

“The battle?” She finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them. 

“It’s over,” he said, soothingly, “Your troops fought bravely in your name, until the last handful surrendered. They’re imprisoned at the beach, Sigrid is watching over them until they can be transported here for your command, when you are ready to give it.” 

He removed the armor across her left arm and shoulder, his fingers lingering when they could. He laid the pieces on the bed beside her before moving to her right side.

He could see a part of her break in the relief, letting go of that responsibility for a moment. “And Podrick?” 

“Fine,” Jaime said actually smiling. “A bit burned and will be sporting some nasty scars once the maester sees to him, but he’s alive and he’s well.”

“Stupid boy,” she bit out, but couldn’t hide the joy in her tone. Her arms were both free of armor now, and she helped as Jaime removed her plackart. He took the pieces over to the stand in her corner, and Brienne bent over to undo the guards on her legs. 

Jaime saw as her shoulders shook while she was bent over herself. She tried to quiet her tears but they echoed off the spacious room. He kneeled before her, taking her hand in his own and moving her away gently so he could finish undoing the clasps. Brienne sniffed, a loud and ugly noise, her hands rubbing across her reddened cheeks. She needed something to focus on, so she took her shaking hands and worked the clasps of Jaime’s armor as he did to hers. Edmund had made the armor easy to remove, mindful of Jaime’s handicap. 

He stilled for just a moment at her touch releasing the armor from his body and he shifted so she could remove it from him. When he looked up at her, she was staring down at the Tarth symbol etched onto the shoulder piece. He finished unstrapping her leg guards and stood to bring them over to the stand with the rest of her suit.

“I’m the last one,” she said quietly, her forefinger running over the design. “The last Tarth.”

Jaime took the armor from her gently, placing it atop her writing desk. In the absence of something to hold, Brienne folded into herself, curling into the corner of her posted bed. She looked impossibly tender in that moment and Jaime found himself wanting nothing more than to wrap her up in him.

“You should sleep,” he reminded her, moving to the other side of her bed and turning down the covers hoping it would entice her. She didn’t move. Jaime found himself at her drawers, wanting to find her night shift, knowing the padded arming garments she wore would grow too warm and she would wake from the heat of them. He hesitated, feeling like if he opened the drawers it would be an invasion of her privacy. Behind him he heard her shifting, hoping this meant she was getting into the bed.

“Jaime,” she called him softly. He turned. She was out of her padding garments, only her soft linen tunic and simple breeches covering her. She laid atop the bed coverings on the side he had had not turned down. One arm curled under her head, and the other cradled to her chest. Her tunic was open just enough that he could spy the marks of the bear’s claws at her neck. “It is too quiet.”

It was a statement, truly, but also a question. The one she wouldn’t ask him, but he still heard. He pulled a chair from her small dining table over to the side of the bed. Her eyes watched him as he sat, the exhaustion of the day finally pulling them closed though she struggled against it.

“Do you remember,” he began, allowing a smile that bubbled from him to form, “When we crossed those farmlands off the Red Fork? The ones with the turkeys?”

A small laugh gasped from Brienne’s lips, a wisp of a smile lingering there. “You ran from them, screaming like a child.”

“Me? If I’m remembering correctly, my lady, it was _you_ who ran, tugging me by the ropes and nearly dragging me to the mud. I had to kick at them just to keep us safe.”

“You are mistaken, Ser,” she smiled, her eyes remaining closed. 

“And what of the time that great flying bass flopped into the canoe? Who saved us from the beast then?”

“It was still I,” she answered, her speech slowing into a tired slur. “I slapped it out with the oar.”

“Ah, yes, it seems you did,” Jaime smiled down at her form, though his heart felt heavy. He watched as her fingers uncurled, her wrist limping into sleep and it seemed almost that she was reaching out to him. 

\---

Brienne woke to the sound of his soft timbre. 

“Thank you,” Jaime was saying in a whisper. “And when will the Maester be returning?”

“By the morning light,” a girl whispered and Brienne let her eyes open slowly. The door to her chambers were cracked open, one of her handmaidens peering in. Jaime was holding a tray filled with what looked like fruits and tea and various scrolls.

“Very well, I will be to see you about the salve in an hour's time.”

The door clicked gently and Brienne stirred, rising onto her forearms. She couldn’t tell if it was morning or night, the curtains still drawn tightly. Her hair messed, stuck to the side of her face, and she tried to run her fingers through its tangles as Jaime walked back to her.

“How are you feeling?” 

He placed the tray down on the chair she had last seen him in and took a seat at the edge of the bed after she had moved her legs up to make room for him. 

“Rested,” she replied, eyeing the bowl of strawberries. Jaime reached over and grabbed them, nestling the bowl into her lap.

She plucked one, taking it into her mouth and reveling in the sweet taste. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. It was sometime before the battle. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly all day. The sun is setting, it’s almost true dark now,” Jaime reached forward and took a berry of his own, popping it into his mouth unceremoniously.

“Gods, that’s too long. Why didn’t you wake me?” she made a move to toss the bedding that she had somehow ended up under off of her, but stilled at his hand on her knee.

“You needed the sleep, Brienne. You’ll run yourself ragged if you don’t heal, and you’ll be useful to no one then.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said indignantly but made no further movement. 

Jaime’s eyes narrowed at her as he took a second strawberry. “There’s more than one kind of healing.”

She sighed at this, her ravenous appetite suddenly gone. “The troops will think I’ve abandoned them. They won’t want to follow me after this.”

“That’s completely untrue. We’ve gotten word out, and everyone understands you had to be here. They were proud to fight for you and for their home with or without your presence. No one’s doubting that.”

“ _We’ve?_ ” she questioned, her head cocking slightly to the left.

Jaime looked away from her, his brows creasing in worry. “Maester Samson and I have sent a few ravens to those that we -- _he_ thought needed to know the news of your father’s passing. These scrolls here are just a few of the replies that have made it back.” He gestured to the small bundle on the serving tray. “After he left to go see to the troops I oversaw your father’s body to the Sept, and the Septon and Silent Sisters are beginning their work. And your steward is making arrangements for the guests that we’re already anticipating.” 

Brienne’s traitorous heart thundered. Both a relief and an ache formed in her. “You did all that, for me?” Her eyes were wide and softened. Jaime relaxed just slightly, clearly he had been preparing for a different reaction from her. 

“Well, yes, it was all just common sense, nothing that really needed your opinion. The steward could have done it himself but everyone seems a bit shaken. They just needed the nudge.”

Her hand reached out for his, her fingers curling into his palm. She was warm and soft and the heat of her touch ignited every inch of Jaime’s skin. She released him just as suddenly, withdrawing to take another berry. Jaime busied himself by pouring her a cup of tea, the sweet, slightly floral scent filling the room.

Cup in her hand she nodded towards the scrolls. “Will you read them?”

He took the scrolls, using the bed and his one hand to roll them out. 

“It seems the Lady of Winterfell is already in King’s Landing, visiting her brother. No doubt bargaining for something. She sends her condolences and word that she’s already secured a ship to bring her to Tarth in two day’s time.”

“It will be good to see her,” Brienne said quietly, smiling sadly into her cup. She’d hoped to host Sansa under better circumstances.

“I imagine she’ll be accompanied by Jon Snow--or is it Aegon Targaryen? Jon Targaryen? I’ll just call him bastard all the same.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she chastised him softly.

“Ah, this one is from my brother. He’ll be here as well. Surely you’re absolutely brimming with the idea of seeing him again.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I enjoy Lord Tyrion, though he could stand to be less crude.”

There were other messages from lords and ladies that expressed their sorrow for the loss of the Evenstar, and one from Gendry that was clearly not written in his hand, promising his appearance.

“Sigrid has written, too.”

“Let me see it,” Brienne moved the teacup aside, taking the scroll from Jaime. She wrote that those who remained on the beach were recovering, the nine Greyjoy men left were being transported back to Evenfall on a merchant ship which she would be overseeing herself. Maester Samson had arrived and looked over who he could. A separate vessel would be taking the bodies of the fallen back as well.

Brienne stared at the parchment, rubbing the edges until they creased. “How many did we lose?” she asked, her voice pained.

“Seven was the last count I knew,” Jaime answered, reaching forward to take the scroll from her. Brienne wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “If I may be frank, we had no assistance Brienne, losing seven is far less than I had feared we would. And every soldier goes into battle knowing death is an option. They fought bravely.”

She nodded to let him know she heard him, her eyes cast far away. It was the same look she had after the dead dropped in the Long Night, when she took stock of how many of the fallen had been following her on the left flank. She had taken those deaths to heart, as if she had been the one to drive the swords into their chests.

“We’ll hold a vigil,” she said. “After father’s service. I won’t let them be forgotten.”

_Of course she would do the most honorable thing_ , Jaime thought, considering all the times men died in battle and no one said a word of it. He gathered the scrolls and tucked them back onto the tray. Unsure if he should leave, he stayed rooted to the bed, eyes flitting between her somber face and the door.

“My father wanted to know if I’d ever fallen in love,” Brienne spoke so faintly that Jaime leaned forward instinctively just to hear her.

“What did you tell him?”

He felt alight with nerves, this sudden conversation being more excruciating than any other.

She shrugged her shoulders, still looking down at the bedding and not at him. “The truth, I suppose. A version of it. I omitted the nastier parts like the rapists and the meaner things we said...and the way it ended.”

“Was it the end though, if I’m still sitting here at the foot of your bed feeding you spring berries?” He reached over and plucked a strawberry from the bowl, holding it out to her. She took it, a sigh of a laugh slipping through her lips.

“I suppose not,” she admitted, taking a bite of the sweet red fruit. He could see there was something else swirling in her mind from the way she looked at him hesitantly, her chest rising up with her inhale as if there were words stuck there she was trying to sort out. Jaime got up then.

“I asked for a salve to be prepared from you. The scars at your throat, they look especially irritated. I’ll check to see if it’s done and I’ll come back with it or send a maiden. Try to rest more, tomorrow will be busy.”

_I’m glad you stayed with me_ , she almost said. As the door clicked shut she swallowed the fruit and the words that swelled in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I just REALLY wanted them to be soft together hahhaa I'm sorry for killing Selwyn, but the rise of Brienne the Evenstar is upon us and it is going to be fuuuun!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took me just a liiiiiittle bit longer than I meant it to! I re-wrote this chapter at least five times, it just kept sitting weirdly. And it was supposed to have two more scenes but then those scenes splintered off into more bits and I imagine they'll make up an entire chapter on their own. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and the next update should be here muuuuuch quicker.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and your kind words!

There were cells in a cave beneath Evenfall Hall, accessed only by a steep stairwell that led from the lowest level of the castle. It was dank and nearly pitch black without any torches lit in the confined space. In the back of each cell was the smallest sliver between jagged rocks, offering a glimpse of the beach and the waters beyond. A taste of freedom as the sea salt air permeated the dungeon, and during the high tide waves would spray the cold bay water inside. It could drive a man mad, the idea of what he was missing. Any prisoner was welcome to try their way out, but would be cut in half and nearly skinned trying to slip through.

The nine Greyjoy reavers were divided between two cells. Still bloodied from their attempted raid, they reeked of the sea and gore. They had watched the sun set and rise through the cracks, it having been almost two days since their attack. Brienne eyed them from between the bars, Sigrid and Guinevere flanking her on either side. The prisoners sneered up at them, sniggering a private joke.

“Why did you come to Tarth?” she asked for a third time.

One of the men stepped forward, wrapping his hand around a bar and bringing his face as close to hers as possible, though he was several inches shorter than her. The torches along the cavern wall behind them shadowed his face but Brienne could still see the nasty gash that bled from the corner of his left brow down to the middle of his cheek. He sneered, his mouth full of more holes than teeth. “We heard the women here are seven feet tall. That they take at least five men before they tire. Thought it would be a fun romp before we sail back to the Iron Island, to take our home back from that bitch.”

“Queen Yara?” Brienne questioned, remembering a decree that the Iron Islands would gain independence but be faithful to the crown of the Seven Kingdoms. The man spit at Brienne’s boots, but it didn’t faze her. “How were three ships going to take on the rest of the Iron fleet?”

He shrugged, “We’re strong enough.”

Guinevere’s shoulders shook, trying to keep her laugh quiet while Sigrid merely grinned into the dark. “Apparently not,” the captain smiled, her arms flexed across her armored chest.

“Dumb bitches,” another of the men echoed in the dark. 

“It seems you’ve pissed off quite a few of us _bitches_.” Brienne kept her tone cool and even. “You are some of the men responsible for taking down one of Queen Daenerys’ dragons, and she’d certainly like to see you burn for that. Queen Yara will kill you for following her traitor uncle. And I’ve got seven of my people dead, because you _wanted to have a romp_. It would pain me none to execute you myself.”

“So who will it be then?” the man spat again, his fist tightening around the bar, impatience seering into his words. “You, the dragon whore, or that false bitch we’re supposed to call Queen?”

Brienne grinned then, turning on her heel silently and mounted the stairs. Sigrid and Guinevere followed, putting out the torches as they passed and plunging the cave to darkness. “Have two guards posted at the door,” Brienne whispered to Sigrid over the barks and curses of the prisoners. “Send down enough food tomorrow to keep them alive and after the sennight I’ll make a decision.”

“As you command,” Sigrid said, the same cool smile on her lips as they sealed the door shut.

\---

Outside of the small dungeon, the mood around Evenfall was somber, yet with all the preparations underway there was hardly a moment to reflect on it. A sad energy propelled everyone forward, making every necessary arrangement for her father’s service and the vigil for the fallen which were being held the next day.

Brienne had thought to spend most of the day in the small Sept that laid a few miles north of the castle, where her father’s body had been bathed and prepared by the Silent Sisters. He was made up in a fine robe of light grey, sapphire jewels and silver threading adorning the collar. He looked peaceful, but at the same time it bothered her to look at him for too long. The body looked fake, a cheap imitation of her father without his glittering eyes and towering posture. She had left the Sept at the first opportunity, knowing she wouldn’t return until she had to.

Tiredness began to seep in, making the short journey back to the Sept a bit unbearable, and Brienne regretted not bringing a horse. She hadn’t slept well the night before; managing only a few fitful hours after Jaime had left her chambers. Every creak in the floor and whistle of wind made her think he was coming back to see her and she would wake. He hadn’t returned though, a handmaiden coming in his stead with the salve, and Brienne found that she missed him. The room was too empty without his ridiculous words and kind touches. His tongue might lash, but his hands always gentled when they were on her.

Her feet had carried her out of the bed at some dawning hour of morning. The room had grown too quiet, she couldn’t stand to be in it alone any longer. A part of her that she was loathe to acknowledge had hoped to run into Jaime somewhere along the corridor, hoping he was as useless to sleeping as she was that night. Instead she found Sigrid arriving through the entrance and took her counsel. When she told Brienne the names of the fallen, she set out to write letters to their families, if they had one. She offered a stay at Evenfall Hall to each if they made the trip to honor their loved one at the vigil. By mid-morning a few had sent the raven back with their answers, accepting Brienne’s offer.

Finally making it back to Evenfall, Brienne entered through the Guest Hall to see that the arrangements were being finalized. Her steward, a thin man with honeyed skin and eyes like a storm, named Walter, was walking beside Maester Samson, and inspecting the rooms. They had been cleaned and made up for the families, the larger apartments in the main holdfast being readied for their more honored guests. Walt turned at the sound of her steps and bowed.

“My lady,” he greeted, and not one to idle, swept her through the rest of the hall. “I know you’re thinking of the services to be held tomorrow, but there is the business of the…”

Walt noticed the way Brienne’s shoulders tightened as he let the unspoken hang.

“The coronation. I’m aware,” she nearly groaned.

“I—we were hoping by the end of the sennight? I know it’s a lot to think of, Lady Brienne, but—“

“My father will barely be in his grave a few days before I’m taking his title. It doesn’t feel right.”

Maester Samson smiled sympathetically, soft and easy compared to Walt’s hurried nature. “We’re all feeling your lord father’s loss deeply, my lady. But Walt has the right of it. You cannot linger as the Lady of Evenfall, you _must_ be named the Evenstar sooner rather than later. Lest the island be plagued by the sons of overzealous lords and lesser knights.”

_Suitors_ , she thought with disgust. They’d come to pick at her over her father’s corpse, their tongues drowning in lies and empty promises while their eyes always widened in panic at the sight of her.

“There’s already been rumors of two seeking inns near Storm’s Fury.” Walt added, his wide mouth frowning, “Men who’ve just learned where to find Tarth on a map trying to wrestle your title away from you, no doubt.”

Brienne scoffed, “They can try, but no man has bested me yet.”

Footsteps fell behind them as they crossed the main entrance, causing the three to turn. Jaime stood, half bowing as they nodded their greetings. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he looked to each of them, eyes lingering as he met Brienne’s. “Sigrid is taking leave to Crescent Port. I’d like to join the escort so I can be there to greet my brother, if I may?”

“Of course,” Brienne nodded, finding his overly formal tone somewhat frustrating, considering the easy way they spoke in her chambers the night before. Brienne always remembered her courtesies, but around Jaime it felt clumsy and unnatural.

“And,” he added before turning away, a smile pushing at his lips, “I thought you’d like to know that Pod’s back, waiting in the Maester’s quarters.”

Brienne turned quickly, a heavy relief spilling from her as she hurried down the hall, forcing Maester Samson into a half skip as he tried to keep up with her long legged pace.

\---

“So what do you think of it?” Sigrid asked from her mount, setting a leisurely pace with Jaime at the back of the guard. They had a dozen with them, much more than needed but what was appropriate for the Hand of the Queen and her consort. Jaime gave her a questioning look and the captain motioned around to the vastness surrounding them. “You’ve seen more of Tarth in the past three days than some have seen in their lifetimes.”

They were traveling off the Center Road, which ran, as it was named, up the middle valley of the island, through quiet lazy villages and fields of wildflowers and small forests. Hills and mountains surrounded them, and in parts waterfalls off the nearby cliffs could be heard, nearly tempting him to shuck of his layers and dive into the cool waters beneath. It was entirely too beautiful of a ride to be angry about, and he wondered how Brienne could call this place home and not once complain about the dingy, shadowed forests of the mainland. It just couldn’t compare.

Jaime had spent hours traipsing up and down, traveling from South to North and back again, and now to a point east of Evenfall Hall called Crescent Port. It was smaller than Northport where the battle had been near, though not as small as the landing at Storm’s Fury which took in ships that crossed Shipbreaker’s Bay, which was barely more than a loading dock with a few inns and shops established off the beach as a quick stop for merchants. Brothels, too, if Pod’s reddened cheeks were any indication when Jaime asked about a drunken night he’d spent there. The east coast held the real trading villages known for their fish markets and Dornish wines, and exotic trinkets that came from across the Narrow Sea.

“An oasis,” he answered.

“I’ve never been off the island, but I can’t imagine a place in the world that would tempt me to leave it,” Sigrid smiled fondly, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air scented with violets and snapdragons. “The ship should dock before it turns true dark. There’s an inn, the Half Moon—we’re very big on our celestial imagery here,” she tossed her braids back, shooting him that joking smile that she always seemed to be sporting whenever she wasn’t being menacing.  
“Anyway, it’s a good place for a night’s rest but we’ll have to make for Evenfall in the early hours to have ample time before the services begin.”

“Whatever Sansa Stark wants. I may be the stupidest Lannister but I’ve no doubt she’ll be the one in charge.”

“Smart men!” Sigrid’s laugh faded, turning into a frown as she looked over him. “Is that a title you gave yourself? Stupidest Lannister?”

“No,” he shook his head, and laughed but the sound was hollow. “My sister and father used to say it was so.”

“It’s not very accurate. I don’t think a very stupid person would have the sense of military tactic that you do.”

“Yeah, well,” Jaime’s brow quirked, as he shifted in his seat atop the horse. “Old habits and all that.”

Sigrid nodded, but her gaze had turned serious, almost pitying. Jaime spurred his mare on, despite the ache of his injuries, taking the lead on the trail to escape her look.

Cersei’s shadow still clung to him, her hissing condemnations ringing in his mind after every decision he made. It was what had driven him away from Brienne the first time, and even now the faint whisper of his past sins kept him from returning to her chambers the night before. She had seemed to like him being there, and it grew too comfortable without the hurt and anger radiating from her. There was nothing but love and fondness beneath her grief. It wasn’t what he deserved, and Cersei had made sure he’d always known exactly where his place was.

But she was gone, and he was learning to be free.

\---

Just as Sigrid said the ship from King’s Landing docked before the stars made themselves known against the night sky. The guards existed first, a host of almost thirty and Jaime recognized a fair number of the Stark bannermen that had traveled south with the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa Stark was courteous as ever, though her steely looks could ground any man with fear. Jon had followed after her, looking more haggard than Jaime could remember him seeming. A handful of Unsullied were there to escort Tyrion, and Jaime felt a relief noting that Grey Worm wasn’t among them.

“Brother!” Tyrion smiled up at him, and Jaime bent down to give him a hug. He held tight to his little brother, feeling Tyrion’s own hands curling into the back of Jaime’s tunic, flinching only slightly at the pressure against his wounded shoulder. “I have missed you so,” he whispered into Jaime’s ear before pulling back and looking up at the rest of the host. “I do hope Ser Brienne has some good ale on this island. That ship’s journey did not sit well with me and I need something to wash it down.”

“Oh please, “ Sansa rolled her eyes from where she had been waiting, “I don’t think it was the ship but the barrel of wine you swam your way through in two days time.”

Tyrion smiled at her, offering a hand for her to take as they stepped off the dock. “If I remember correctly, my lady, you helped me with a cup or two.”

“Or three,” Jon added beneath his breath with a smile, though not quietly enough to save him from Sansa’s searing glare.

Jaime led them to where Sigrid and the other Tarth soldiers were waiting at the Half Moon. Sigrid had secured rooms for the three and tents were set up in the space behind the inn for their escorts. When she introduced herself as Captain of the Evenstar’s household guard, Sansa’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Women guards? A whole host of them?” A flash of pure joy came over Sansa’s stony expression. “I need to find some women to train back at Winterfell, I would love nothing more than to not be surrounded by dogged men all day long.” Sigrid howled with laughter as the barmaid set five pints of ale down. “Maybe I can borrow some of your soldiers to come up North and spur up some inspirations. I desperately miss having Brienne with me.”

She looked down at her lap sadly, her ale untouched. “How is she? I’ve been so worried about her, not just with the news of her father, but ever since she left Winterfell. Is she well? I was hoping that she’d be here to greet us so I can take stock of her.” Though she would not look at him, Jaime knew the questions were for him to answer.

“Brienne would have liked to be here,” Jaime said, “But she had to be at the western port to greet Lord Gendry, who is so green at this whole lording business he needs her there just to get through the courtesies.”

Sansa nodded in understanding, still staring at her hands. “But is she well?”

“She’s…Brienne. Heart as soft as any maiden, but she throws herself into work and straightforward tasks so she doesn’t have to feel it. But she does, deeply. It’s a great loss to her and to all the people here.”

Sigrid somberly lifted her ale, silently toasting before taking the earthy drink down in large gulps.

“Spoken like a true Tarth,” Tyrion said, eyeing his brother thoughtfully.

“Brienne didn’t speak much of her family, but when we got the raven of her father’s health, I knew she was affected greatly. Though of course there had been…other factors.” Sansa looked up at him darkly, the wolf queen he had grown to know in Winterfell.

“We’re passed that,” Jaime said aloud, almost unthinking, the ale already loosening his tongue if not his sentiments.

“Are you?” Sansa questioned, her voice steady and steel. Jaime stared at her, unblinking, and she matched him for every beat, ignoring the way their other companions’ eyes volleyed between them.

Clearing his throat, Jon set down his mug. He had been eyeing the cut over Jaime’s eye, the bruising around Sigrid’s jaw. “I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t know about the reaver ships coming. If I had known I would have—“ 

“Would’ve what, milord?” Sigrid smiled into her cup, ”Disobeyed the queen?”

“No, but I would’ve talked to her.”

“We managed fine on our own,” Sigrid lowered the cup, smiling all the while though it did not reach her copper eyes.

“There were losses,” Jaime added, an edge to his tone.

“There are always losses,” Jon defended almost spitefully.

“Another round!” Tyrion slapped a few coins in the table, waving the barmaid over before another word could be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at first, I wrote the ending scene with everyone as buddies but then I was like naaahhh there's gonna be some TENSION. There's a lot of stale air between Jaime and Sansa (on behalf of Brienne, mostly), and I imagine Sigrid and the other soldiers are pretty pissed at the crown for not providing ANY help against the Greyjoys. But there's quite a ride between the Inn and Evenfall Hall so hopefully they'll be able to clear some of those feelings up and Brienne won't have to deal with it!
> 
> ALSO, most of my delay in with this chapter was me trying to think of names for these stupid ports. I nearly named them Northport, Westport and Southport out of desperation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to get a chapter a week up until this puppy is finished! Then I'll get working on call the night by name again (I haven't abandoned I was just too full of rage and have too much anxiety to work on two things at once), and then I have a billion other fic ideas I hope to get to!! For anyone that's stuck with this fic so far, you're a rockstar, and to anyone just reading it, I'm so glad you're here! 
> 
> Enjoy!! =)

Brienne took her dinner in Podrick’s chamber that night. He was seated at the small dining table, the bandages around his right shoulder peeking out from his loose tunic. The burns trailed across his back, the bandages holding the calming salve to his skin.

“The maester says there will be some puckering, a faint scar, but I told him it was alright, all the best fighters have scars!”

Brienne cocked her head to the side, lips fighting a snide smile. “And is that what you are now, Pod? One of the best fighters? Because you tried to blow up a ship while you were still standing on it?”

“I _did_ blow up a ship…while still standing on it.” He muttered the last few words, dipping a piece of bread that Brienne ripped apart for him into the melted cheese in the center of the table. Though she had been chastising him since the morning, after making sure he wasn’t hurt and had been provided every comfort she could afford him, he could see pride shining in her eyes.

“Ser Jaime said it reminded him of your time in Harrenhal, when he jumped into the bearpit—”

“Ser Jaime has many redeeming qualities Pod, but his lack of foresight that leads him to nearly get himself killed in the name of bravery is not one of them. And stop listening to his version of it, he makes himself seem much more in control of the situation than he had been at the time.”

Podrick started to laugh, forcing Brienne’s smile to fully bloom. “What I’m trying to say,” she continued after a moment, her tone more sober, “is that it _was_ very brave, and we’d have lost so much more if you hadn’t lead a charge against that ship. But…I have so few in my life that I really care for, and trust, I can’t bear the thought of losing another.”

A blush covered Pod’s cheeks as he chewed a piece of roasted chicken. “I care for you too, my lady, Ser. And for Tarth. It feels like more of a home than any place I’ve ever been has. I’d be proud to die for it.”

“Well,” Brienne ripped another piece of bread, chewing it unceremoniously, “let’s hope the opportunity to do so does not rise for many, many, _many_ years to come."

\---

Tyrion had risen early, his nose already stuck in a book as he sat at a small desk against the wall. The rooms at the Half Moon were modest in size, and bare in furnishings, but he liked the simplicity of it. A window above the desk let him watch as the sun began to rise across the Narrow Sea, a wash of pink touching the sky. The book, which he had found after a quick browse of the Red Keep’s library, contained a somewhat comprehensive account of Tarth’s early history. A knock rapped at the door.

His brother’s head slid through the opening without Tyrion saying a word. Shaggy hair that had once been golden framed his bearded face. It was trimmed, but not shaven as Cersei always preferred it. Absent was his golden hand, his scarred skin exposed beneath the rolled sleeve of his tunic. He looked a different man than the one Tyrion always conjured in his mind, yet, he felt this version was somehow better.

“Knew you’d be awake,” Jaime set a plate of fruit and cheese on the desk, a small pitcher of summer wine in the crook of his arm.

Tyrion’s nose scrunched at the small offering. “No bacon? Or some smoked ham?”

Jaime nearly laughed, the same easy sound that had lit the halls of Winterfell, his green eyes rolling. “We’ll be leaving within the hour, though Sigrid is begrudged that we’re not leaving right at this moment. It was the best I could do.”

Tyrion sighed, popping a slice of tangy clementine into his mouth. “You’ve been here for how long? A month? Already you talk about these people as if you’ve known them a lifetime.”

Jaime let his body fall against the wall next to the closed door. “It feels that way. I’m starting to forget what life outside this island was like. I used to be able to map out the roads from King’s Landing to Casterly Rock in my mind but I can hardly picture them.”

“Perhaps you’re just growing old, big brother.”

“Perhaps,” Jaime smiled and Tyrion almost returned it, hoping there were other things Jaime was forgetting as well. _Let the memories rot_ , he thought.

“I might be able to change that though,” he said, the words garbled around the grapes he chewed, “if you’re able to keep something quiet, including from our lady knight.”

Jaime glared at the knowing look quirking his brother’s eyebrows into his hairline. “What are you on about?”

“The Queen is gone.”

Jaime’s face scrunched, head tilting like a confused animal. Tyrion took a long sip of the wine, letting the sweet plum taste roll across his tongue. He liked it a bit more bitter, but it would do. He poured a second glass. “She took Drogon back across the sea to her cities in Slaver’s Bay where she is a goddess and not a monster.”

“Where she didn’t murder half a million people, you mean?” Contempt lay beneath his tone, but Tyrion only nodded.

“She said she was only going for a visit, but I know she means to stay there. More than half the Unsullied and Dothraki went back with her. There’s no love for her here, and she sees that.”

“When did this happen?”

“Only a few days ago, shortly before we received your raven about Lord Selwyn. If I had known she was going to take off, I would have sent ships to deal with the Greyjoys no matter her ruling on it,” he stopped as Jaime waved his hand

“Enough of that, it’s over. How do you know she won’t be back? It doesn’t seem entirely mad for her to visit her other territories.”

Tyrion swallowed, setting the half filled goblet down and began to move around the room to gather his few belongings. They had left much of their stuff in the wheelhouse to be ready for the day’s journey. “I know her,” he said slowly, “She named Jon as Protector of the Realm, and she means for him to rule in her place.”

“He is the rightful heir,” Jaime said almost gloomily, hand scratching at his beard as he thought of Rhaegar and what could have been.“And the most reluctant ruler since Robert. Maybe more than Robert, at least the old stag liked a good feast.”

“Reluctant, yes, but a good leader,” Tyrion tucked his books into their carrying case and crammed his feet into his boots in the corner, lacing them up with a groan. “He doesn’t understand yet, or at least he refuses to acknowledge that Daenerys doesn’t mean to return. It might be for the best though to let him get used to leading the realm slowly.”

“Who else knows?” Jaime asked, chewing a slice of hard cheese that was left on the plate.

“The small council and Sansa. She had marched south with the remaining Northern army, set on demanding independence for the North like the Iron Islands were granted. When we told her what had happened she rescinded. No point if the King in the North is King of us all.”

Jaime could only nod his understanding, feeling almost detached from the news. He wasn’t sure it mattered who sat on the throne, as long as Tarth was kept out of it as they mostly were. They were only a short sail from land but it felt worlds away most of the time.

“We’ll make an announcement soon, but for now, we thought it best to keep things quiet. There’s enough turmoil already.” With his Hand pin fastened to his maroon cloak, and books under his arm, Tyrion was ready to leave. He walked back to Jaime, and put a gentle hand on his brother’s elbow to catch his attention. “And I am telling you this because it means you’re free. There’s no banishment. You can claim Casterly Rock back. I can write to Aunt Genna tonight after the feasting and tell her you’re on your way.”

Jaime merely stared at him, mouth drawn tight and no hint of the elation Tyrion had been expecting at the news. His eyes narrowed, thinking as he was, but he made no sound.

“If it’s what you want, that is,” Tyrion retreated, putting his hand over the books and shifting them in his arms. All Tyrion wanted was for Jaime to be as happy as he had been in Winterfell, where his days were filled with hard work and his nights spent wrapped in long pale limbs and bright blue eyes. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since he left for Tarth but from the way he and Sansa flared at each other after two mugs of ale turned to heated discussion about Lady Brienne, he assumed things weren’t quite the same for him here. 

He expected joy, but Jaime wasn’t smiling now, and his eyes held something in them Tyrion couldn’t quite place. Sadness, perhaps, or longing. “You don’t have to decide now,” Tyrion said, making for the door so he could call for one of the Unsullied who had chosen to stay in Westeros to take his things to the wheelhouse. “We’ll be here a few days. Think it over.”

Jaime nodded, eyes caught on a point out the window. The water really was as blue as a sapphire.

\---

Jaime was glad Tyrion was in the wheelhouse and couldn’t see where he lagged behind the host, eyes following every dip and curve of the land around them. He felt himself rooting to the flowers underfoot, to the call of the sea behind them, his thoughts whirling with the news his brother had told him. It was a chance to go home, but he wasn’t sure Casterly Rock counted as such any longer. Maybe the reason the place he spent his childhood was dimming in his mind’s eye was because something else, so vivid in colors and smells and sights, had taken its place.

“Ser Jaime?”

The voice called to him and his head snapped to the side. He hadn’t expected to see the Lady of Winterfell trotting beside him on her tawny mare.

“Lady Sansa,” he said reluctantly. They had not left each on the best terms the night before. She had excused herself after the second round of ales reached them, angrily glaring at Jaime as they snarled dismissive comments at each other. The final blow had come after she’d exclaimed what a fool Brienne was for ever trusting a lion, to which Jaime not so gently reminded her she had been a Lannister too once, in name, and possibly still was by the eyes of the Seven. He had immediately regretted it, especially since it dragged Tyrion into a fight he was desperately trying to stay out of while he engaged Sigrid and Jon in a conversation of their own, but the ire in her eyes had begun to prick at him. “Wouldn’t you have been more comfortable in the wheelhouse?”

“I wanted to enjoy the morning,” she said, turning her face up to the sun. “And I thought it would be nice to see the place Brienne calls home. It’s a beautiful island, so different from the North.”  
Her smile softened, looking at Jaime without daggers in her eyes for once. “I wanted to apologize as well. My treatment of you last night was not fair.”

That he hadn’t expected and it must have shown on his face. The girl sighed and then straightened again, resolving to see her apology out. “Lady Brienne was more than my shield, she was my friend, my family. And there are enough grievances between Lannisters and Starks to fill a thousand volumes, but I tried not to let that stand in the way of Brienne’s happiness. I saw the love that was there, love like I saw between my lady mother and lord father. But even so, I trust Brienne to know herself, and if she chose to be with you in such a way then...you must have been worthy of it.”

Sansa took a deep breath, clearly having thought of these words for quite some time. “I didn’t come here with any intention to start a fight with you, Ser. I just found myself thinking of the pain Brienne must be feeling, and how she is the last person to deserve it. Old wounds were opened, and it was unworthy of me to throw my old prejudices at you. I know more than most the kindness a lion can have despite the claws. I hope you can forgive me.”

Jaime stared at her for a moment, then ahead at the soldiers both on foot and horse that were leading them. “Thank you, my lady, and I apologize too, for any offense I may have given,” he managed, unsure of what else to say. “You need not worry any longer though, Brienne and I are amicable, but not as we were.”

“That may be true, Ser,” Sansa slowed her horse, forcing Jaime to pause with her. “But I doubt that is the whole of it. You said yourself she has a maiden’s heart. Brienne’s love runs deeper than most. She barely knew my lady mother and yet kept an oath to her far beyond when any other person would have. Think of Renly Baratheon, a man who was briefly kind to her in their childhood, and whom she pledged her life to. If she loved you once, Ser Jaime, she will love you for all her days.”

Jaime gaped; confused by this woman who seemed so much the girl he had met lifetimes ago, so fond of love and fairytales. Her horse countered around his as she seemed to assess him as he stood before her and not as the man she had always thought him to be. Sansa smiled at him after a moment, warm but calculated, nudging her horse forward to catch up with the rest of the host. When they met with the trail again, Sansa asked him for the names of the village they rode through and the types of flowers they passed as if their conversation had not happened. He named them as best he could. 

\---

“So do I bow?”

It took all of Brienne’s constraint to not hang her head into her hands. “Lord Gendry,” she started as they stood together just inside the main gates of Evenfall. The courtyard was already beginning to crowd, many people of the island having traveled to pay their respects to her father. Guinevere had reported that the host escorting Lord Tyrion, Lady Sansa and Jon Snow were only a few leagues out and would be arriving any moment. “Bowing is always courteous, I recommend it. Again, you are my liege lord, which places you and Lady Sansa at the same station. Lord Tyrion is our Hand, and Jon is the intended consort of Queen Daenerys--”

“So he’s not a King anymore? Is he a Lord?” Gendry looked at her with the same panic he’d been looking at her with for the last day.

“To be fair I don’t quite know...the lines have gotten a bit muddled,” Brienne mused.

“What are you going to call him?”

“Probably my lord, it seems safest...my lord.”

Gendry nodded, a bead of sweat trailing down his face that had little to do with the sun beaming down on them. “I’ll follow your lead...my lady...Ser?”

“My ladyship outranks my knighthood, but you may say whichever pleases you, my lord.” She smiled politely, and tried to catch Podrick’s eye from where he stood observing the two of them. He smiled in a grimace at Brienne, happy at least that the people coming to greet them already knew Gendry and had their expectations tampered. If it had been a different time the boy would have offended half of the host and possibly started a war. He was trying, desperately, and they’d all give him that credit.

Gendry sighed loudly, shifting his weight from side to side. “It was easier in Flea Bottom,” he muttered, “Only half of us had names and the other half you could just call Big Ugly and they’d answer.”

Brienne pursed her lips, forcing a laugh out through her nose. The sun was starting to become unbearable, though the black mourning tunic and cloak she wore, fastened by a sunburst pin, was not helping in the heat. Finally she spotted Sigrid with the host of Tarth, Stark and Unsullied soldiers a bit larger than she expected. She hoped they had enough room in the castle and guard house for them, or they’d have to start setting up tents in the fields outside the gates before nightfall. Jon Snow rode amongst the northmen, his expression looking as bleak as the Northern skies. Sansa however shone in the sunlight, her red hair catching it as she rode beside a few of the armored women, a sweet smile pressed to her dainty lips. Jaime held the rear of the host, his expression nearly unreadable and that worried Brienne more than anything. 

When Sigrid met them at the stairs she bowed to Brienne and Gendry, then made way for the rest of the host. Sansa was the first to her, taking Brienne’s hands in hers as soon as she finished curtsying.

“I am so sorry for you loss, my friend, though I’m afraid I cannot quiet my joy at being able to see you again.”

Brienne couldn’t help but smile, “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“As do I,” Sansa gave Brienne’s larger, calloused fingers a squeeze before moving towards Gendry. “My Lord,” she curtsied again and Gendry bowed far more deeply than he needed to. His eyes however roamed to a spot behind Sansa, where Jon and Jaime had dismounted and were waiting for Tyrion to emerge from the wheelhouse. The corner of Sansa’s lips quirked into a small frown, “I wrote to Arya, or at least I wrote to a contact in the Free Cities who might know where she is but I’ve heard no word from her. I’m sorry, it would be a miracle if she were to join us.”

Gendry cleared his throat, giving a nearly imperceptible nod as Tyrion and Jon finally made their way up the steps to them. The pleasantries were exchanged, both Tyrion and Jon expressing their sincerest sympathies to her. There was some time before the services would begin so Brienne introduced her steward, Walt, and allowed him to show them to their rooms. She lingered as they walked passed, waiting until Jaime had reached her.

“Is everything alright?” she nearly whispered as Sansa lauded to the others of how beautiful Evenfall Hall was.

“Of course,” Jaime looked at her trying to smile though she could see clearly that something was weighing on him, clouding his expression. 

Brienne searched him, not realizing they had both stopped within the entryway. “You’re quite sure? Nothing went awry last night?”

“Brienne.” He nearly breathed her name, the sound of it quieting her. Jaime wanted to go up on his toes, kiss the soft skin above her brow and stave off her worrying but he didn’t have that option. So he took her fingers gently in his, running his thumb over her knuckles brazenly before letting go. She drew in a long breath, tension leaving her shoulders as she walked forward to the rest of the group. She didn’t notice Sansa watching them, but Jaime had and thought perhaps there was the slightest amount of fondness in her grin. He turned away, wanting to visit his chambers before the funeral service and change out of the clothes he had been wearing since the previous day.

“Oh, Ser Jaime,” Walt’s voice boomed after him, and he stilled in his movement before turning to the small man. “Lady Brienne asked that you be moved to a chamber in the main holdfast as well. She thought it would suit you better.”

The flush that overtook Brienne’s face was fierce, as she turned away from his gaze, wishing with all her might that Walt hadn’t just announced that out loud for all to hear. Jaime could feel a heat rushing over him as well, a grin tugging at his mouth as he struggled to keep an indifferent expression. A thousand snide remarks came to him but he held them all in, striding towards the group as they stilled on the staircase.

“And which one would that be?” He asked her, eyes dancing with mirth as her blush deepened.

“To the left of mine--well my old chambers, which we thought would suit Lady Sansa,” Brienne gave a pointed look to Walt. “I’ll be moved to my father’s solar, of course. I hope your new rooms will be satisfactory,” her throat tightened with a swallow as she continued to not look at him as long as she could without seeming rude.

“As my lady sees fit,” he bowed shortly, wanting nothing more than to continue to tease her but knew by the way her eyes rolled that this would have to be enough. He walked passed the group, ignoring the way his brother’s knowing eyes followed him in amusement, noting that the Evenstar’s solar was a mere six paces from his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo Brienne thinks she can just sneak sneak Jaime a little bit closer to her without anyone noticing, huh? I don't think so :) Anyway, I hope the pacing is still working for everyone! These two have gotten through a lot of their own shit, and now with Sansa's somewhat acceptance/forgiveness, things can keep in a forward momentum for them.
> 
> Also, I struggled with what to do with Dany. I wanted Westeros to be in a somewhat peaceful state but how you find peace after that kind of massacre I don't know so I kind of just...flew her away. I didn't want to go with the whole Jon killing her, and then being imprisoned and Bran being king thing because it just doesn't make sense to me. So Jon will be King (for now) and Bran will be back in Winterfell giving out fake numbers to Ye Old Lottery and cracking himself up. There will still be implications for the realm that Brienne will have to deal with, but slightly less sticky ones than having a murderous tyrant as Queen.
> 
> (I'm so sorry Dany for what those showrunners did to you, enjoy your vacation in Meereen and try not to roast any more people).


	11. Chapter 11

The sun had been slow to set, savoring its path through the red orange sky as it settled down somewhere across the Narrow Sea. Jaime felt the sea breeze shift from warm to cool in the late afternoon sun, watching the sky change from where he stood at the back of the training yards. Before him lay a mound of flowers in every color, seven swords sticking up from the soft dirt in front of the memorial. One for each fallen soldier whose name Brienne had repeated so many times over the last day that he had memorized them for himself.

Philippa Godfrey, Lettice Whyte, Nathaniel Talbot, Alys Howard, Alyson Denys, Geoffrey Hall, Kateryn Fisher. 

Slowly mourners began to trickle into the yard from the Sept down the hill. Lord Selwyn’s funeral had been one of genuine sorrow. Crowded with all manner of people, the small Sept felt almost suffocating and Jaime had looked to escape as soon as was appropriate. The mourning line had wrapped around the building, each person looking sullen and in need of Brienne’s comfort as they offered condolences to her. She gave each person time and attention, though she knew not their names nor their faces. The Seven watched over her in their statuesque marble from where they stood in the curves of the room. 

Tyrion had found his way to Jaime’s side without a word, Sansa not far behind with her hand tucked into the crook of Gendry’s arm. Jon was the last to join them, and had been the last to leave the Sept, besides Brienne. He had tried to offer Brienne comfort as she had to so many others, but neither of them were very good at being anything but stoic.

Soldiers flanked the pathway that led from the Sept, and through them Brienne walked with Sigrid by her side. Sigrid had known the fallen, lived with them and mourned them as family. Brienne only knew their names, her mouth moving as she repeated them wordlessly with each step in her precession. Together they bowed their heads in front of the flowered memorial. A silent prayer rippled throughout the crowd, heads bowing or lifting up to the heavens above. Even the wind seemed to quiet in respect. When they finished, Brienne drew Oathkeeper and pointed the Valyrian tip towards the sky. Steel rang out as sword after sword was drawn, even Longclaw and Widow’s Wail finding their way to the sky.

_“For Tarth!”_ Brienne shouted, and the island echoed back.

\---

As a little girl, Brienne always knew that when the armory was unavailable for her to hack her feelings away, there was always solace to be found in the kitchens. She liked the routine of the work, the way the women and men wielded their knives against meat and vegetables in much the same way Brienne had always hoped to wield a blade. She liked to watch them chop quicker than a knight could parry. Sometimes the grizzled old cook, who had been there since her grandfather was lord of Tarth, would sneak her a jelly tart or two.

The old cook was gone now, and the kitchens were silent. Brienne had shooed the staff away with a great stretch of her arms, forcing them to leave bits of food scrap and knives strewn across the center counter. They were already preparing for the morning’s meal and for the coronation feast yet to come. Through Brienne wasn’t sure she could stomach another feast so soon. Hours earlier her dais had been crowded with the families of the fallen soldiers to her left, and her honored guests from King’s Landing and Storm’s End to her right. Her table had never been so full and yet she had felt intolerably lonely. Not even the soothing plucks of the singer’s harp could lift her somber mood. Polite conversation had been attempted, but it had all turned to silence when the roasted lamb and salted cod, the charred asparagus and honeyed plums and sweet strawberry cream had been served. Brienne found the tastes turned dull on her tongue, the wine doing little more than making her lightheaded.

She had made her excuses early and left the great feasting hall behind to everyone’s gentle understanding. She wanted nothing more than to hideaway in the armory again, as she when she was younger, but that would be noticed. Everything she did was noticed now. She could go to her chambers and sleep for the night, but they were still very much her father’s solar in her mind. The thought of settling into his grand four post bed with the suns and moons carved into the wood, the place where she gave her last goodbye to him, turned her stomach. So it was the kitchen she found herself peering into, watching as the cooks massacred onions and carrots and new cuts of beef until they noticed her and started bowing and fawning over her. She dismissed them, waving them out of the room until there was nothing but the wind whistling through the open window and a lone slice of untouched lemon raspberry cake to keep her company. In the silence Brienne began to cry, though she could not say exactly what for. 

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted her, forcing Brienne to frenziedly wipe the tears from her face with her sleeve. It was only Jaime though, a wineskin held in his hand, his right arm giving her a wave, and the rush of embarrassment she felt at being caught crying was gone.

“What are you doing down here?” she asked, her voice creaking.

Jaime jiggled the skin at her. “Tyrion’s empty, and it seems the serving staff have all gone to bed.”

“I’m surprised he’s still awake to have more, he seemed to enjoy a few cups at the feast.” Brienne remarked, her eyes following as Jaime walked around the room to the barrels behind her.

“Don’t let his stature fool you, that man can outdrink anyone.” Jaime smirked, uncorking the barrel and letting the sour red that had accompanied dinner to fill the skin. He recorked the barrel, intending to bow out of the room as quickly as he had come in, not wanting to be more of an interruption to Brienne’s solitude. However, the sound of her sniffle called him back, and before he could even make it passed the counter to the doorway, he had turned to the cupboard and grabbed a cup. Perching on the stool beside her, Jaime filled the cup with wine from the skin.

“But it’s for Tyrion…” She looked at him as he pushed the cup towards her, eyes lined with tears she didn’t permit to fall. 

“He can wait.” Jaime’s lips pulled into a small smile, tender-hearted and sweet, just like he had smiled at her the night after they survived the battle against the dead. She had never noticed him look at her in that way before, yet it had stirred something in her that night which had been lying in wait for a long time.

She let her fingers curl around the simple stoneware with hesitation before bringing it to her lips. The wine was hard and bitter, not to her liking at all, but still she drank. When she put the cup down it was half filled, but Jaime poured more wine and took a swallow for himself.

Against her will, the tears began to fall freely, staining the wood of the counter a darker shade of brown. Jaime’s hand was at her arm, the pressure light and grounding. “I’m sorry,” she choked, trying to control her emotions, but she found it difficult to slip back into that hardened exterior.

“It’s clear you had much love for your father, as did his people. There’s no shame in your grief,” Jaime said, comfortingly, his thumb rubbing against the fabric at the crook of her elbow.

“Yes,” she said, though she shook her head in protest. “But these tears are not for him.” She took the cup from Jaime once more, downing it in a furious gulp. “It’s for the people of Tarth who are stuck with _this_ now.” She gestured to herself, cup in hand. “Taking my position as my father’s heir...it was never supposed to be a real possibility. I always, _always_ , thought he’d have a son and when it became clear that that time had passed I just assumed I’d be dead before him.”

Jaime’s brows knitted together, hand withdrawing just slightly as he waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, “Why would you have been dead before your father?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sullenly, her finger fidgeting around the cup as Jaime filled it again. “I was serving as a knight for a long time, even if only in duty and not in name. I assumed I’d die fighting for Renly, or Lady Catelyn or trying to find Lady Sansa. Or against the dead. Dying for duty, protecting someone I believed in, that was to be my end.”

“You’re still a knight.” Jaime leaned over her to grab a fork that lay on the counter and take a bite of cake that had still been untouched. His knee knocked against her bottom, causing Brienne to look at him fully.

“What?” she asked, half-distracted as she took in his posture. He was balanced lazily on the stool, his right foot perched up on the stretcher of her stool, while his left leg fully extended in front of her.

His chest was forward, almost touching her left arm and shoulder as he continuously leaned over her to peck at the cake slice. “You said you were a knight and I am correcting you. You’re still a knight, both in service and in name. I knighted you myself or have you forgotten?”

“Of course I haven’t,” she answered, suddenly exasperated by his chewing. “I could never forget such a moment.” She took the fork from him as it was halfway to his mouth, taking the bite for her own despite his muted protest. “I never thought of what it would really be like to be Lady of Tarth, the Evenstar. It feels awful. I used to only have to focus on keeping myself alive and my lord or lady...and sometimes Pod. But now I have all these people to keep safe, and fed, and happy. Every decision I make is no longer my own. I belong to a thousand strangers. One misstep and it’s blood on my hands. Or worse.” 

Jaime gazed at her softly. “What could be worse than blood?”

“Their grief. Their anger and resentment. A lifetime of struggle.” She was nearly whispering, afraid that if she spoke too loudly the Seven would hear her and make it so. “Alys Howards’ mother remarked during the feast that they had never had lamb before. They’re fishermen, they only eat what’s left from the market that they haven’t sold. Alys joined the castle guard to bring more money to her family only weeks before I arrived back home, and then she died under my command. What sort of a Lady does that to her people?”

_Renly was your liege lord,_ he wanted to remind her but he couldn’t bring himself to be combative. Brienne’s face turned red, her lips pulling into a frown as she tried to stop herself from crumbling once more. The fork clattered to the counter, forgotten as her hands went to hide her face, her shoulders trembling with choked sobs. Jaime’s arms were around her, strong and grounding as he coaxed her into him. She rested against his chest, face hidden in the bend of his neck, wetting his collar with her snot and tears.

When finally she pulled away from his embrace her cheeks still glistened with tear tracks. Using the sleeve of her tunic, Brienne blew her nose and wiped the wet from her face, an irritated laugh escaping her. “You must think me weak.”

“No,” Jaime said, sincerely, reaching out to wipe away a tear she had missed on the apple of her cheek. “I think you honorable and far better than any of us deserve. As I always have.”

She cut him with a look.

“Fine, maybe always is inaccurate. There was a rough part in the beginning where I did want to kill you myself, which is the truth of why I leapt into that bear pit. Couldn’t let a _bear_ do me out of my own revenge.”

Brienne chuckled at that and Jaime felt relieved to hear it, even if dread still shadowed her eyes. He poured what was left of the wineskin into the cup, taking a sip before tilting his head towards the half-eaten cake in front of Brienne. “Eat the rest,” he told her, “it’s very good.”

Reluctantly, Brienne picked up the fork, pulling at what was left of the cake. She released a short, uneasy sigh from her nose as she took a bite. A gentle weight pressed over her thigh and when she looked down it was Jaime’s stump there, holding her as best he could.

Her fingers curled around his forearm and she let a slow, calculated breath out from deep within her chest, trying to feel even a hint of the confidence he seemed to have in her. Tyrion’s need for drink had been forgotten as they sat together in the night, sharing cake and wine and the smallest of smiles.

\---

“Podrick was telling me about the gardens, I’d love to see them,” Sansa remarked as she walked through the elegant halls of Evenfall with Brienne.

“Oh, yes, we can certainly spend some time there. Sigrid has put together a training demonstration for Lords Tyrion, Gendry and your brother. We can tour the gardens after, unless you’d prefer not to see the demonstration, then we can go straight away or..”

Sansa stopped her friend with a gentle hand on her forearm, causing the much taller woman to look down at her. “My lady,” Brienne always blanched whenever Sansa addressed her as such, but they were in Brienne’s noble home and she refused to her shy away from her rightful titles, “Stop fretting.” Sansa gave Brienne a stern but kind smile.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I just want to please everyone as best I can, though I do a poor job of it.”

“You’re doing as fine a job as any one woman can.” Sansa slipped Brienne’s hand into the crook of her arm, a bit awkward due to their height difference but it allowed her to lead the Lady of Tarth around for once. Sansa led them towards the south courtyard, where the training was being held and where Brienne wanted to be most. “Let your advisors worry about others’ needs from time to time instead of taking it all on for yourself. You seem to be surrounded by people who have your best interest, and the best interest of Tarth in their minds and hearts. Even if I am a bit surprised at some.” Any other person would have muttered the last sentiment beneath their breath but Sansa wanted her meaning to ring loud and clear.

“You mean Ser Jaime,” Brienne said, but her expression was tender and she did not stiffen like she sometimes would when Sansa had brought him up in the past.

“I do,” Sansa said as they passed through the guest corridor.

“I trust him most of all.” Brienne straightened, looking more confident than Sansa has seen her since she arrived.

“I must confess, my lady, I was quite surprised at how enmeshed into your house he has become. Rarely is he seen without you in his sights.”

At this, of all things, Brienne blushed. Sansa wrestled away the smile that threatened to emerge, charmed by how sweet and maidlike Brienne could still be, and happy to have been right about her friend’s unwavering romantic nature.

“I know I must seem foolish,” Brienne said, red-faced and splotchy, but her back still straight with confidence. “But as much as I tried to push him away, I don’t think I could bare it if he strayed too far.”

“Brienne,” Sansa stalled just as they reached the doorway that led out into the training yards. “If I may speak boldly, you have an unwavering confidence and affection for Ser Jaime. It’s a sentiment that has been scoffed at by many who do not know him or you. Yet you never seem to care, you trust yourself in your judgement of him. So why not trust yourself in your judgement of how best to rule this land, then, just as you do in your love for Ser Jaime?”

Brienne didn’t have a chance to answer, the sound of her name ricocheting down the hallway accompanied by the sound of Walt’s hurried footsteps interrupting them. “My lady!” he shouted once more, bowing to Sansa between his half running steps as he caught up to them. “And my lady.” This he said to Brienne with an apologetic smile. “Septa Lianne is waiting in your chambers.”

“No,” Brienne whispered a protest, her stomach immediately knotting as she looked mournfully at the door that was nearly her escape.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, concerned.

“A gown fitting, Lady Sansa. For the coronation,” Walt said, waving the words away with his hand, trying to cloak his tone in nonchalance. Tension brewed between them though, rising off Brienne like steam.

“I asked Lady Brienne to escort me to the training demonstration, I’m eager to see what Captain Sigrid has in store for us,” Sansa said pleasantly, trying to excuse Brienne from her duty, though she knew it was in vain.  
“There’s only so many hours in a day, my lady, and Septa Lianne has much to do,” Walt said coolly, though his fingers fidgeted against his thigh. “It will only be a few moments, and I’m sure Lady Brienne will be able to join you for the second half of the exercise.”

“Then, let me accompany you! I’d love to study Septa Lianne’s stitch work,” Sansa reached out to take Brienne’s arm in hers once more, hoping to be a comfort, but Brienne was already backing away. 

“It’s better I go to it alone,” Brienne said, shyly. “Please give my regrets to the others. I hope to join with you afterwards in the gardens, or at supper if other duties call me away.”

Brienne bowed as she was accustomed to, leaving Sansa to curtsy at her retreating form, frowning at the way Brienne’s shoulders hunched forward, feet nearly dragging as if she was a prisoner being led to a dungeon.

\---

“It’ll only be a moment, my lady,” Walt assured her, Brienne’s grumbling growing with agitation as they walked up the main stairway. Her stomach tangled like a web, strangling her from the inside as one of her handmaidens held open the door to her father’s solar with a curtsy. She wondered vaguely if curtsies could be outlawed.

Once inside, Brienne’s face twisted into a grimace, Septa Lianne’s cheery smile doing little to settle Brienne’s upset. Armed with a pin cushion around her wrist, the older woman took her by the elbow, nearly dragging her behind the privacy screen. She was oddly strong for a woman of her age.

The dress was quite pretty. A deep blue with delicate silver threading trailing moons and suns down the skirt while a line of rose water opals decorated the square neckline, representing the colors of the Tarth banner. _Sansa would look beautiful in such a gown,_ Brienne thought, more bitterly than she meant to, her insides clenching as she reached out to touch the soft material. The bodice looked padded enough, but there was also a corset laid out on the dresser. Her fingers played up and down Oathkeeper’s pummel as she stared at the wretched beige thing. Finally, she unbelted the sword and Septa Lianne took the corset in hand.

It took Brienne bracing against the dresser, her knuckles white and aching, as Septa Lianne dug her foot into the small of her back to get the corset laced up. A string of curses flew from Brienne’s mouth though no one seemed to pay her any mind. Barely able to breathe, Brienne tussled with the gown until it was all in place and followed the older woman out to the mirror where she could be pinned properly. Avoiding her reflection, Brienne kept her gaze to the window, staring out at the crashing waves in the distance and straining to hear the sounds of the training yards below while Septa Lianne pulled and prodded at her.

“The gown is stunning, my lady, and you look…”

Brienne’s eyes snapped to Walt’s through the mirror, causing the words to fall from his mouth. She knew what she looked like, freckled and scarred, with curves that were not her own rounding out the gown in lumps. She allowed herself a glance, and that was all it took to see the truth of it. Her broad shoulders strained the material wrapped around them, a vast flatness in the neckline where a subtle show of cleavage ought to have been, the angry way the scars at her neck seemed to look redder against the rich color. Her nose was too crooked, her jaw too rounded, lips too chapped and eyes too full of tears to keep looking any longer.

_I don’t look like Sansa Stark at all,_ she thought shamefully, turning her face away. “Excuse me,” she whispered, straining against her broken voice, and moving away from Septa Lianne. Shrugging out of the dress, she grabbed her breeches and pulled them on hastily. There was no time to unwork the corset, so she left it as it was, her tunic pulled over her in a wrinkled mess. She snatched Oathkeeper from where it lay on the dresser, tears already falling as she walked briskly from the room. She swiped away at them with an angry gist, ignoring the voices calling out to her.

\---

It was clear that Sigrid was enjoying herself just a touch too much as her steel sang out against Ser Cassian’s sword. She was demonstrating some of the techniques she had personally developed for single combat, and even though it was a choreographed exercise, she delighted in beating up on the good-natured knight.

“C’mon Cassian!” Jaime shouted out, hands held to either side of his mouth in a cordial taunt.

“Watch it Lannister,” Sigrid smiled over at him, sword pointing in his direction, “Or you’ll be helping me in the next demonstration.”

“They’re incredible,” Gendry remarked, as wide-eyed as a boy at his first tourney.

“How have we never recruited these troops to our causes?” Tyrion looked from his applebox, both men turning to Jaime as he laughed away Sigrid’s threat. Jaime only shrugged, leaning back and rolling his shoulders and neck. He had slept poorly, and only for a few hours after Brienne finally saw fit to leave the kitchens. By the time he had made it back to the chambers he had been entertaining Tyrion in, his younger brother was curled up in the middle of his bed and snoring loudly, leaving Jaime with little room and no peace.

“You should hold a tourney,” Sansa said from his other side, smiling like a wolf towards her once bastard brother turned cousin. She hadn’t been watching Sigrid, but the faces of the Northmen and Unsullied and the castle guard that had traveled with them from King’s Landing. Many of them had fought with Brienne at their side, but a lone woman breaking the mold was one thing. Here were dozens, and many of them highly skilled. She watched as they shifted uneasily, sneering jokes to each other, but noticed that they never sniggered loudly enough for any of the women to hear. “Any woman who can defeat a man in his sport of choice gets his titles, and any claims to lands he has.”

Jon looked softly at his cousin, and for just a moment Jaime could see Rhaegar Targaryen through those deep Stark eyes, “I am as much in awe of these fighters are you are, Sansa, but that seems like an extreme wager.”

“Besides,” Jaime added, “The women of Tarth are very loyal to their home. They wouldn’t leave here for some northern castle they’d never heard of.”

“All the more reason to have such a prize! The men won’t know it’s an empty promise, and the look on their faces when they think they’ve lost it all will be the greatest of treasures.” She was smiling quite fiendishly.

“I think the lady is onto something,” Tyrion added, intensely watching Sigrid. “At least on the subject of a tourney. Many men have been lost to the wars over the last few years, our numbers are not what they used to be even in the city watch. Why shouldn’t we look to the women to fill their place? Ser Brienne and your own sister Lady Arya are two of the realm’s most revered fighters. A tourney featuring these daughters of Tarth might be the thing to move such an initiative forward, Your Grace.”

Jaime didn’t miss the way Jon flinched at his true title, glancing around to make sure no one but them had heard Tyrion’s slip. Though if Jaime knew his brother half as well as he thought he did, he knew it wasn’t a mistaken slip of the tongue by any means. “Sigrid would be happy to organize such an event, I”m sure of it,” Jaime remarked, saving Tyrion from any chastisement the reluctant King was about to give him.

“It’s too bad Brienne is missing this,” Sansa frowned, turning to look at the doors behind her, hoping Brienne would emerge from them. Just as she hoped, the door swung open, Brienne’s form rushing out of it, her feet bare. “Something’s wrong,” Sansa said suddenly, disliking the way Brienne was hurrying not towards them but to the stables, her eyes downcast and a vice-like grip on Oathkeeper’s hilt.

Podrick, arms full of equipment from the armory that he was bringing into the yards to set up the next demonstration, whirled around as Brienne stormed passed. “My lady, Ser?” he questioned, but was left ignored. She disappeared into the stables for just a moment before reappearing atop a mare, riding it into a swift gallop and kicking up dirt in her trail. Pod dropped the arrows and shields he was holding to the ground as if to go after her, but Jaime was already at the stable door calling for a saddle with such urgency that the stable boy tripped over himself in his haste to retrieve one.

\---

He had almost galloped passed her, the sound of a waterfall from one of Tarth’s smaller rivers had disguised the grunts and curses that flew from her mouth as Oathkeeper hacked into the bark of a broken tree stump. Her horse was grazing on its own nearby. She whacked and gashed and chopped, her teeth gritted with every swinging impact, bits of bark and twig flying around her.

“Careful,” Jaime said as he dismounted close to her, ducking to miss her back swing.

Brienne looked at him red faced and panting. When her eyes settled on his features, calming ever slightly, she pulled her tunic off. Her strong, wide shoulders spilled forth from a corset about ready to crush her. Curves were molded onto her body that he knew fully well were not there.

“I can’t…” she said breathlessly, sticking Oathkeeper into the center of the stump so she could bring her fingers to fumble around the taunt, tangles laces of the corset.

“You’re lucky you didn’t crack a rib. May I?”

Jaime approached her gently, slipping a dagger from his sheathe. He had taken to carrying one day to day, easier than having Widow’s Wail around his hip, especially when he was helping Edmund in the forge. Brienne snatched it from his hand, and put the dagger to her belly. For a horrid moment Jaime thought she meant to plunge it through, never had he seen her look so desperate before, but then she ripped the dagger up the center, parting the laces as he had intended to do and let the vile thing fall to the dirt behind her. The freckled expanse of her chest heaved greatly, her body free from its binding. Angry and petrified, the tears started to prick at her eyes, but she was so tired of crying. The water rushed from the waterfall below them, a pool of blue solace beckoning to her. Brienne knew the waterfalls around Tarth well, they were her playplace in childhood. She looked at Jaime’s face, his mouth hanging open from shock and confusion and she leapt away from him, diving into the waters as naturally as any sea creature might.

Jaime ran to the edge, waiting until she bobbed up from the small lake that laid several feet beneath where he stood. It was a large drop, as large as some he ventured off of as a boy at Casterly Rock, but he was no longer full of boyhood recklessness. She waded to the surface, the water lapping around her bare shoulders, hiding her naked torso beneath. He hurried back to his horse, galloping down the slope of the hill with Oathkeeper and her discarded tunic in hand. The lake rippled from the waterfall, lapping up around the grassy banks and slippery rocks that surrounded its small shore. Jaime searched the water’s surface but Brienne was nowhere in sight.

Without hesitation, Jaime stripped the leather jerkin from his torso, jerking his shoulder violently to cast off the vest as easily as possible. He didn’t have time to deal with the complication of his tunic, so he left it on and waded into the waters after her. The water was cooler than he thought it would be, but still pleasantly soothing as it reached up to his chest. “Brienne!” he shouted, calling her name before dipping under the surface to look for her there. He saw nothing and shouted her name again when he surfaced.

“I’m here Jaime.” 

He heard her before he saw her. Brienne emerged from behind the waterfall, stalling just beneath it to let the heavy waters beat down on her back and shoulders. She reveled in it, eyes closed and face turned to the sun above them. Droplets mingeld on her face, hiding her tears as she walked through. Her thick fingers ran through her hair which had grown to the middle of her neck, slicking it back and away from her forehead. Jaime breathed in relief, swimming closer to the fall to meet her.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she apologized, her voice already quiet with shame made even fainter by the sound of the rushing water.

“No need,” Jaime said, short-winded though he couldn’t say if that was from the wild horse riding, the worry he felt, or the sight of her making it a little more difficult to breathe. “Are you alright?”

“They want me to wear a gown.” Brienne crossed one arm over her chest to rub her shoulder self-consciously, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“A gown?” Jaime shook his head, puzzled. “Who wants you to wear a gown?”

“Everyone! All of them!” She gestured wildly at the grove around them. “It doesn’t matter who, it’s what’s expected of me. It’s what Tarth deserves. A lady who is poised and graceful and fair and decent. Or a lord who is strong and capable and just. I cannot be both while I am neither.”

“Brienne,” he sighed, her name both a plea and a frustration on his lips. Jaime took her hand in his, holding it for a second to his lips and then bringing it to his chest. “The hell with what is expected of you. What is it _you_ want? Do you want to be prettied up in a dress? Do you want to wear your armor? Do you want to say fuck off to the whole thing and steal off across the sea? We could find work as sellswords in Essos, easily. I’ll secure us a boat tonight, if that was what you wished.”

“No, I…” She started and then sighed. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I cannot tell you what to do, and I wouldn’t venture to try, but just know whatever you decide I am right there with you. I am your man through and through, you won’t have to suffer through this on your own. I hope that’s a comfort, at least.”

Her kiss was heavy against his lips. Fingers raking at the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him into her as he basked in the force of her, the warmth of her. Their legs kicked, tangling together in the water. Jaime’s right arm wrapped around her thick waist, holding her to him, afraid she might slip beneath the surface and disappear forever.

She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, hand clasping his as her bare chest fell against his sopping wet tunic. Her eyes fluttered as she pulled away, gazing at him with all the hope of spring and the warmth of summers to come. An ache overcame him, a monsoon he had been holding at bay since he left Winterfell, unlocked by her fervid touches. His arm held her tighter. “I missed you,” she whispered, forehead pressing against his, “I missed you so terribly.”

Jaime reached up to brush his lips across her cheek, again to the spot beneath her earlobe and once more to the scars at the base of her neck. “You need to believe you’re going to be good at this. It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, you’re the one that needs to know it.”

“I’m scared, Jaime,” she admitted, her voice barely carrying above the water.

He smiled at her, untangling his hand from hers to thumb across her chin. “That’s how I know you’ll be good.”

Brienne nodded, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to listen to the sound of the waterfall. The waves thrummed against her, promising to hold her when she needed it, just as Jaime was.

“Come on,” his voice broke into her reverie, “Before I drown and King Jon sends in the reserve to find us.”

Her eyes snapped open, _“King Jon?!”_

Jaime smiled, not even attempting to feign regret at the slip. “There’s been some changes in the realm.” They waded out of the waters to find their discarded things, Jaime spilling all the he knew as they lay in the grass together, drying in the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends, I am so sorry for leaving this hanging for over a month. I had had everything up until Chapter 10 plotted out and though through but after that it was kind of a mishmash of scenes in my head. I went through numerous versions of this chapter, none of them were satisfying to write so I doubted they'd be satisfying to read. But FINALLY I stumbled across something that I think works, and I can see the end from here my friends!! Thanks all for sticking out the wait and I hopefully will be moving towards wrapping this fic up very soon.


	12. Chapter 12

It only took the faintest hint of daylight to rouse Brienne from sleep, and once her eyes opened she never found a need to close them again. Idleness perturbed her. Yet there was something in Jaime’s arms that she was never quite so eager to leave. She watched as the light filtered in through his chamber window, a grey dawn that was as languid as she felt, slowly crawling up the wall. Jaime was turned towards her, legs slightly curled in his sleep, arm thrown around her waist. His warm breath crested against her bare shoulder while her fingers traced lightly against his forearm.

She had forgiven him long ago, but holding onto the anger had been like a habit, formed out of a need to protect herself. After their kiss in the water it had been easy to slip back into his love. Still, she woke in the night when he twisted in his sleep, afraid she’d find him halfway to the door. If she reached out to the memory she could still feel Winterfell’s chill deep in her bones. She studied Jaime’s face each time she woke, frozen with fear while his expression was nothing but peaceful in slumber. His shifting only brought his warmth closer to her in the bed they shared.

When the sunlight glinted off the pearl doorknob it was time for her to leave. Slipping away from the weight of his arm, Brienne gathered the rumpled cream colored bedrobe from where it had been discarded the night before, knotting it around her waist.

“You keep staying later,” Jaime murmured, sleep-weary eyes half closed as he moved onto his back.

Brienne clutched the collar of the robe in one hand, a blush blossoming from ear to chest. She tried to school her features into one of authority, fixing Jaime with a glare. He leaned up against one elbow, the silk sheets draped around his waist, lazy smile affixed as his gaze appraised her. It was astonishing, knowing that he loved her, to see it so openly in the way he looked at her. It made her forget how to breathe until her lungs ached. It made her feel alive.

“It’s hardly late, and _you_ shouldn’t laze around in bed much longer. You’re to meet Sigrid by mid-morning.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You reminded me at least half a dozen times last night before my tongue quieted you for good.”

Her blush turned deep crimson as she left the room and his smirking, self-satisfied Lannister grin behind.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?”

Tyrion stood in the hall, a small book in his clutches after another visit to Tarth’s library. It wasn’t vast like the one in King’s Landing nor did it hide anything of particular value like the ancient vaults of Winterfell. It did, however, boast many books on fishing and few odd stories about mermaids and their fanciful sea creature friends. Tyrion was an early riser too, especially when he hadn’t had any wine to help him sleep. She’d been lucky to evade him the past few mornings, or so she thought.

Tyrion smiled, a good-natured mischief in his eyes. “I look forward to your coronation this evening, Ser Brienne. It’s an honor to be able to take part in such a joyous affair.” He bowed to her deeply. Brienne returned the gesture, clutching the collar of her robe as tightly as she could.

“Thank you, my lord Hand.”

His smile turned cheeky. “Oh come now, we might be family soon. I think calling me Tyrion is quite enough.”

“Yes, well, it’s an honor all the same,” Brienne fumbled, blushing again. She moved passed him as quickly as her legs could carry her, sliding into her proper chambers, the same lion’s smile lingering after her.

\---

Jaime yawned as he watched The Bounty bob up and down beside the dock at Crescent Port. He thought it was a terribly stupid name for a merchant ship, that they might as well permanently attach grappling hooks for pirates to board them out at sea. It was the only ship crossing the continent to the Iron Islands that agreed to take the prisoners back to their own Queen’s ire. They stood roped together, led single file onto the ship by a small host of Tarth soldiers.

Mounted beside him, Sigrid watched as his yawn grew wider. “Having a hard time sleeping, Lannister?”

“Not at all,” he said through the mulish sound, smiling at her. “Been sleeping exceptionally well, actually.”

The first night Brienne came to his room he was cautious of her. He knew how hard it was for her to be in her father’s chamber so it wasn’t a surprise to him that she had come to his instead. Still he was too afraid to push her too far in one direction or the other. He had sat in a chair while she settled into the bed until she asked him in her quiet, careful voice to come be with her. After that first night she never bothered to knock again, slipping into the bed beside him after the rest of the castle had gone to sleep. They curled around each other, touching and kissing slowly until sleep caught them.

“There’s been rumors,” she teased, and for a moment his features slackened with a breath of panic.

“Rumors?”

“Aye, that you guard your mischievous little brother while he runs the brothel rampant.”

Jaime laughed, his eyes wrinkled with relief. “Maybe if it were ten years ago. Tyrion’s whoremongering is naught but a legend of the past. I never followed him to the brothels though; too much perfume makes me sneeze.”

He waited for her laughter expectantly, but not even a merry snort came from her. Sigrid just nodded, only half hearing what he’d said. “Is there something wrong, Captain?” he asked, following her gaze to where the guards had loaded onto the ship, saluting those remaining behind as the boat prepared to sail.

She hesitated, refusing to look away as great big oars poked from the sides, shifting the boat away from the dock. “Merchants from King’s Landing say no one has seen the Dragon Queen for some time. Nor her dragon,” she said slowly. “They’re sure she’s gone, you can’t miss a beast that size. But they don’t know where or how or why she’s disappeared. Some say she’s gone to bring back more dragons and burn the rest of Westeros to ashes. Others say it’s a coupe, that the bastard from the North killed her along with your brother at his side. Lord Tyrion is still believed to have killed King Joffrey, and no one quite understands how so many Starks could die so that a _bastard_ could lead the North. A few even believe _you_ killed Daenarys Targaryan, becoming Queenslayer and Kingslayer and that’s why you were exiled to Tarth.”

Jaime nearly barked a laugh then. “I wasn’t even near the girl during that mess, yet I’m blamed for it anyway.”

“I told them it wasn’t true, that we’d heard from Queen Daenarys after you were brought here. But then I remembered we hadn’t. It was your brother’s word that warned us about the Ironborn, not hers. Still I know you didn—”

“Sigrid,” he interrupted, putting his hand on her armored shoulder. “Are you upset over some foul thoughts someone has about me? You shouldn’t waste your time. Many a great man has thought poorly on me for much worse.”

“It’s not that. I mean, I don’t like liars, and a few teeth were knocked afterwards. They were mainlanders anyway, and you know what they say. _Give a mainlander a rock but call it a diamond and they’ll pay thrice the price._ ”

“Or sapphires,” he mused but again she wasn’t fully listening.

“I know the _why_ of it is nothing but a rumor, but _something_ is amiss. You might not know but surely your brother does? We’re sending five of our best across the continent and I can’t help but think we should call them back. We were beyond lucky to make it through the last wars unscathed, I’m not sure we’ll have that same luck twice.”

Jaime understood the fear and felt it as well. Daenarys was alive somewhere, and if she had been able to cross the sea with three dragons once he was sure she could do it again a second time. “I don’t know what’s going on in King’s Landing, not entirely at least. But…for the first time in a very long time I do trust the people who do. As does Brienne. We may be sending five good, strong soldiers away for the better part of a year, but Brienne is worth ten of them at least.”

That seemed to be enough. Sigrid relaxed in her saddle. “Do you dance, Ser Jaime?”

The question caught him off guard, making his dappled grey whiny from his accidental tug on the reins. “Do I…I know the steps, but no, I’m not in the habit of dancing.”

“I hope there’s dancing tonight,” Sigrid said, a small smile forming as she signaled to the rest of their host to move out. The Bounty drifted to the horizon, unfurling great white sails to the wind.

\---

Brienne had just been born when it was her father’s coronation. Swaddled in light pink and silver silks, held in a mother’s arms she hardly remembers. A quiet baby, she hadn’t made a sound, only smiling serenely as her father took the moonstone and sun scepter in hand while the Septon recited the words that heralded from ancient Kings.  
For herself, she would have preferred to just slip the ring of the Evenstar into her finger one morning and have Maester Samson send out a decree. She’d said as much to him the night before and he measured her with a look. “Some traditions are meant to be upheld, my lady, though there are others that can be retired in time,” he said gently, glancing to the gown Septa Lianne had laid out on the bed for her approval. She had stood alone in the room for some time, staring at the gown, waiting for it to rise up like a ghost and launch itself at her. It didn’t of course, yet the feeling of dread filled her until she fled the room, choosing the comfort of Jaime’s instead.

He soothed her with light kisses to her lips and cheeks and brow. His hand traced the muscles of her back, wrapping her in him until she was calm again. She kissed him deeply, hovering above him in the glow of the moon, wishing not for the first time that they were in some inn off the Kingsroad instead of Evenfall Hall, where nothing and no one waited for them in the morning.

The gown was still as she had left it, and she found herself staring once more, unable to make an approach. A knock at her door relieved her of the tension for a moment. “I hope I’m not interrupting, my lady,” Sansa curtsied as she entered the room. “I was hoping to give this to you before you readied yourself for the night.” Unfurling the bundle she held in her arms, Sansa held out a magnificent cloak.

Tarth blue with rose colored lining, the cloak was soft with a delicate neckline to be fastened with a crescent moon pin. There was even a string of rose water opals sewn across the back, making the waistline appear to be cinched, just like Septa Lianne’s gown. It fell the entire length of Brienne’s body, though it had too long of a trail to be worn day to day or in battle.

“It has the appearance of a gown from the back.” Sansa smiled sweetly, almost intimately as if an inside joke had been told amongst dear friends. She moved to where Brienne’s armor stood in the corner, recently shined and gleaming. She draped the decorative cloak over it, having to stand on tiptoes in order to reach high enough. The cloak softened the steel, complementing its intricate design.

Before leaving she held Brienne’s hand in hers. “Don’t be afraid. You are strong as steel, soft as newly fallen snow. Show them,” she whispered to her friend before squeezing her hands gently and slipping from the room.

\---

Her armor clanged as she walked up the stairs to the Sept, cloak trailing far behind her. Brienne hardly heard it for the pounding of her heart outweighed every other sound. She had not expected the crowd outside the Sept to be so large, nor so loud with their cheering as she rode between them on her white destrier. Their greetings roared, some throwing flowers down in her path. She swelled with pride, relief, and a bit of fear. _Maybe they don’t realize who they’re cheering for,_ she thought, trying to keep focused on getting to the Sept without galloping forward as if meeting an enemy in battle. _Maybe they do though, and maybe, just maybe, this is all for me._  
It was too much to think after a lifetime of hardening against jeers and sideways looks. To be revered, even loved, it was always meant to be someone else’s story. Yet she was here, surrounded by a crowd of smiling faces. She’d feel drunk off it if it wasn’t for her nerves.

When she entered the sept, the sun fractured in from the stained glass ceiling, bathing her in its warm light. Her skin pale, armor gleaming, she looked like the Warrior himself come to fight for them all. Jaime couldn’t look away from her, sitting in the front row beside his brother. He had never been religious, but in that moment he could believe that the gods crafted her themselves to give them all a glimpse of heaven. Sansa excitedly whispered to Jon and Tyrion, her hands clutched together to her chest, smile broad.  
The Septon waited for her between the statues of the Father and the Mother. She walked rigidly, but with her head held high, allowing for one glance at the front row. Her eyes softened when she met Jaime’s, like a long held breath being exhaled. He smiled at her, the same smile as when he knighted her. Pride and love and a look of devotion that made her burn. She turned away as the Septon presented her with the scepter and stone. She took them in hand, their weight heavier than she expected and she turned to face the crowd with reddened cheeks as the Septon began the words.

“May the Seven protect you with the warmth of the sun, guide you with light of the moon, as you will protect and guide us. Evenstar, with these holy symbols we look to thee, we honor thee, and we pray for thee. I present the Lady Brienne, A knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Evenstar of Tarth!”

She tried to keep her smile from erupting at the sound of clapping, though no hands rang louder than Podrick’s from where he stood guard at the back of the sept. She turned to place the stone and scepter down, allowing the Septon to slip the Evenstar ring onto her broad finger. A thick band of silver and blue, with the sun and moon pressed upon its face. She turned to face the crowd again, thrusting her hand into the air which only made the cheering louder.

\---

_My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_  
And off they went, from here to there,  
The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair 

For once Brienne did not cringe away from the bawdy song. Her soldiers twirled in a ring around her, laughing and singing heartily while ale sloshed onto the floor of the Great Hall. She laughed too, a genuine booming sound, her eyes crowded with the most joyful of crinkles. Sigrid hopped into the middle, grabbing Brienne by the waist and she was thankful for having chosen to change from her armor into simple breeches and tunic while the captain whirled her around.

“Lady Brienne, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms! The Evenstar!” Tyrion called out from his seat at the feasting table, clearly deep in his cups with Edmund not far behind him.

“Evenstar!” Some shouted after him, while others called for _Ser Brienne!_ or _Our lady, our lady!_

As the shouts rang off the stone walls, Brienne broke away from the dancing group to make her way to the center dais. She was dizzy and breathless, but it wasn’t all from the twirling. Oathkeeper lay in the center of the dais in front of her empty plate. Jaime stood not far from her high seat, laughing at something Pod had said to him. His gaze followed as she walked closer and it must’ve been the wine but it seemed as if his cheeks were tinged red as she grew closer.

“I told you,” he said just loud enough so she and Pod could hear him. “As many titles as the Dragon Queen.”

“And deserving of every one!” Pod toasted his cup to her, gulping down what was left in it.

“Here, here,” Jaime agreed, his smile never faltering.

Brienne shook her head, modesty beseeching her to wave away every compliment given to her. She took Oathkeeper in hand, pausing a moment to admire it’s golden lion pummel. The Valyrian steel rippled in the candle light. It was truly a magnificent sword. Holding it in front of her chest, Brienne turned to face the crowd as the singer’s plucks began to fade.

“Captain Sigrid, Podrick Payne, would you approach?”

Sigrid’s eyes widened, a realization coursing through her. Brienne knew the look, one of disbelief and a deep desire to stave off disappointment. The crowd parted for her to walk to Brienne and she knelt before the steps of the dais when she reached them. Podrick stumbled from his chair less graciously, nearly tripping over Gendry as he tried to rush passed him. He mirrored Sigrid when he approached, face red from ear to ear.

“There has never been a more loyal and fierce squire than Podrick Payne. He served dutifully, never faltering to give his best in whatever task was set before us. I would not have survived our travels without him by my side, and I am honored to call him a friend.” Brienne gave Pod her biggest smile, his eyes shining as he beamed up at her. “And Captain,” she continued. “We have not known each other long, but you have led your army with justice and courage for many years. You have guided and protected your people through some of the worst turmoil the Seven Kingdoms has ever faced. I only hope that I live up too all you expect of me. I cannot thank you both enough for the service you have not only shown me, but for Tarth and the Realm at large. I hope this will suffice.”

She set the tip of Oathkeeper to Pod’s right shoulder, her stomach fluttering as she said the words. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” She repeated the same words and motions to Sigrid, who let tears fall from her copper eyes to the floor below. Her lips quivered as she stared up at Brienne.

“Arise, Ser Podrick Payne and Ser Sigrid of the Crescent Port, Knights of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crowd roared, erupting into cheers and shouts. Soldiers rushed forward to congratulate the new knights, folding Sigrid into a rousing hurrah, chanting their new titles. Podrick stayed in front of Brienne while Sigrid became enveloped in the throng. He clutched at this sword belt, feet shuffling as he tried to find the right words. “Ser, my lady, I--”

She cupped his cheek, an affection she hardly ever dared to be so outward with. “You’ve shown great bravery in your deeds for a long time. You deserve this more than half the knights I’ve ever met, Pod.”

“I was only ever brave because of you, my lady, Ser.”

“I only helped encourage you, it was there all along,” she gave his shoulder a squeeze. His doublet was new, a deep blue with silver diamonds down the lining. “Now go on, Ser Podrick, and celebrate! Sansa looks to be in need of a dancing partner.” He smiled and it reminded her for a moment of the shy, clumsy boy she had met all those years before. Brienne watched as Pod approached Sansa. He bowed, confident and gallant, and Sansa readily accepted his hand, allowing him to rescue her from Gendry’s moping over her sister having not made an appearance.

From her peripheral Brienne saw Jaime slip out of the Great Hall after clapping Sigrid on the shoulder. She followed after him into the guest corridor, excusing herself from some approaching guests who she did not know. He stalled as he heard her footsteps approach though she tried to be quiet.

“I wasn’t leaving,” he assured her, though he did not turn fully to look at her.

“I know,” she answered, stopping only when she was a few feet behind him. He turned to her then, appraising her with a sad smile.

“I know you don’t want all this celebration but you deserve it, you always have. I hope you see that now.” The hallway was dark, lit only by a few sconces along the wall. The glow made him as golden as he’d always been, magnificent with shadows cutting across his sharp angled jaw that tightened as he worked on the words he was trying to get out. “Tyrion offered me Casterly Rock back. Without a Dragon Queen to piss off there seems to be no need for an exile. I’m free to go.”

“I figured that would be the case.” Her words were calm, because she _had_ assumed Tyrion would find a way to get Jaime out of Tarth, Targaryen rule or not. Still, hearing him say it made her chest tighten.

He grabbed her hand in his, stump coming to rest on her left elbow. “I want to find my place beside you, here. Not just as a…paramour, but as something worthy of the Evenstar.”  
“It’s just me, Jaime. You’re already worthy,” she whispered, pulling him closer until her cheek could rest on his. Demure in her movements, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, her nose caressing against him without fear of who might see.

Jaime’s lips met the spot beneath her earlobe, pressing into the soft of her neck as he murmured to her skin. “My protector. My knight. My love. _My Brienne._ ” Her knees threatened to buckle, his words like flames against her. “I’ll do whatever you’ll have of me.”

She imagined these were things Cersei liked to hear, that this was the way she clawed beneath his own desires to puppet him. Brienne wouldn’t have that. She pulled away from him, studying the way the fire lit his skin. She’d almost say he was blushing. “I’ll have a dance.”

“A dance?” He took a step back, hand touching at his stump self-consciously. “I’m not much of a dancer any longer.”

“Neither am I.” She smiled conspiratorially, taking his hand in her own. Her thumb swept over his knuckles and she felt him relax into her touch. “Why do you think I’ve supplied so much drink this evening? We can dance horrifically, and no one shall notice.”

Hand in hand they found their way to the dance floor, taking a spot next to Tyrion and Sansa. Guinevere was drunkenly shouting the words to _Bear and the Maiden Fair_ again even though the singer was playing _Flowers of Spring_. They danced foolishly, unashamedly, missing steps and ending in the wrong spots. Nobody seemed to notice or care. Brienne loved the feel of Jaime’s arms around her as he spun her, and he loved having the chance to love her loudly and without fear, nuzzling against her whenever they found themselves pressed close together. They danced even when the singer’s string broke and there was nothing but a chorus of drunken voices to guide their steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha I was so excited to finally get this damn chapter up I forgot to write my end notes. Not that you guys need my ridiculous commentary...anyway! I am so sorry for the long wait on yet another chapter. We really are getting to close here and it's been harder to make sure I get everything I want in while still making each scene relevant and play its part. I also started my first semester of grad school and am slowly dying. It's been a long time since I've been in school, but if there's anything that gets my fic writing juices going it's procrastinating my school work. Hope you guys enjoyed this one!! I'll try to get the next chapter up before the end of the month. I think it might be the last (possibly second to last) plus an epilogue! As always thank you for reading and loving this fic and your endless patience <33


End file.
